After The Exam
by JoAnn Stuart
Summary: In the series episode "The Exam," Roy and Johnny spend days worrying about taking their re-certification exam, only to have the computer eat their test scores. But what if one of them didn't pass the on the retake?
1. Chapter 1

**After the Exam**

_By JoAnn Stuart _

_This story is a continuation of the events in "The Exam," which originally aired on Saturday, November 13, 1976. _

_Rated T for language.  
_

_"After The Exam" ©1999 JoAnn Stuart. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. and Universal Studios. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. The settings and characters are fictitious, even when a real name may be used. Any similarity to actual persons, living or deceased, or to actual events is purely coincidental and is not intended to suggest that the events described actually occurred. _

_My deepest and most sincere gratitude goes to my editor, Brenda, for all the time, hard work, and hand-holding she gave to me and the story. Thank you also to those busy medical and firefighting professionals who so generously shared their expertise. My thanks also go to CJ Smith for all the work involved in publishing and hosting this story. Originally published on __**Station 51.**_

_**

* * *

**_**Saturday, November 13:**

_**Station 51**_

"Aw, man, I cannot, just cannot believe it!" Johnny slammed the cover of the book closed and shoved his chair back from the table.

"Believe it, Junior. Believe it." Roy glanced up from the manual he was reading and watched Johnny stalk over to the coffeepot. "Hey, bring me a cup, will ya?"

"I mean, how could a computer eat the exam?" Johnny banged the cups on the counter. "Computers are always screwing everything up. Remember that mess with my credit card? Why don't they just give us a field test or something?" Johnny banged the coffeepot back onto the burner. "I really hate paper exams, filling out all those little dots, writing all those essays. That kind of test doesn't really show what you can do or what you know anyway." Johnny returned to the table with two cups of coffee, one of which he set down before Roy none too carefully.

"Hey! Watch it! You're getting coffee all over my books!" Irritation flashed over Roy as he dashed over to the sink to grab a towel.

"Sorry," Johnny offered insincerely as he resumed his seat at the table, brushing ineffectively at the spilled coffee. "I was going to go camping during these next two days off. Now I'm going to be stuck indoors reviewing all this stuff again."

"Just leave it, you're making it worse." Roy snapped, slapping at Johnny's hand with the towel. Sometimes his partner could be really juvenile. Right now he was on a roll, as far as Roy was concerned.

"Well, excuse me!" Johnny made a face into his coffee cup.

Cap had been reading the paper on the opposite side of the table until the minor altercation arose between Roy and Johnny. "Hey John, why don't you just take the manuals with you? There's no reason why you couldn't study up in the mountains. In fact, it might even do you some good. They say you learn better when you're more relaxed." Cap peered over the top of the paper at Johnny to see how the suggestion would be taken.

Johnny slapped his hand on his chest. "You think I'm tense? Me!" he exclaimed in a mock-injured tone.

Cap's only reply was a raised eyebrow.

The dark-haired paramedic stared at his coffee cup for a moment, pondering the idea. His face brightening, he looked up. "Yeah, why not? That's a great idea! Thanks, Cap!" Turning to Roy he enthusiastically invited, "Hey Roy, you want to come, too?"

"No, I don't think so. I promised Joanne I'd do some things around the house and we've already made plans for a family outing tomorrow. I'll be able to get in enough study time before Tuesday." '_Besides, you're driving me nuts right now, Junior._' Roy smiled indulgently both at his partner and at his private joke.

Johnny had renewed his efforts to persuade Roy just as the tones sounded: "Squad 51. Possible heart attack. 422 East Harper, Apt. 15B. 4-2-2 East Harper, Apt. 1-5-B. Cross-street Lexington. Time out 15:56."


	2. Chapter 2

**Friday, November 19:**

_**Station 51**_

Morning had dawned greyly, both smog and clouds blocking the sun, casting a gloomy pall over the city. To Roy, it looked like there was to be no respite from the continuing rain that had been water-logging the area for the past five days. The good news was that the threat from brush fires was virtually non-existent. The bad news was the increase in traffic accidents due to slippery roads and limited visibility. Other hazards included washed-out roads and the increased likelihood of mudslides. The overabundance of water could undermine the foundation of a road or cause hillsides to suddenly collapse in a lava-like flow of oozing mud.

As Roy pulled up, got out of his car and headed towards the station, he saw Cap standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly against his chest, watching him intently. Cap's expression was as dark and unreadable as the clouds gathering to the east.

"Morning, Cap!" he greeted with a wary smile. "Looks like we're in for another stormy day."

"Roy, I'd like to see you in my office."

"Sure, Cap. Let me just unload this stuff in my locker and…"

"Right now, Roy," Cap interrupted tersely, motioning for Roy to follow as he turned towards the office.

Roy shot an apprehensive look at Cap and nodded before obeying. The captain shut the door, walked over to his desk, and sat down heavily behind it. Roy remained standing uncertainly by the door. He rarely saw Cap looking so distressed. Cap sighed, looked up at Roy and gestured towards the chair. "Have a seat."

Roy glanced nervously around the room as he sat down. "Cap, what's wrong?" He hesitated a moment, picturing several worse case scenarios and coming up empty.

Cap frowned down at his hands for a moment and then up at Roy, looking as uncomfortable as the paramedic had ever seen. "I got a call this morning from HQ. It's about the exam."

Roy winced. '_Omigod! We failed!_' The unwelcome thought flew unbidden to mind. He forced himself to ask, "And?"

"Congratulations, Roy. You passed." For a man offering congratulations, Cap certainly didn't look too happy.

Roy stared blankly for a beat. Then a relieved grin appeared on Roy's face as he let his breath out in a whoosh. "That's great! You really had me worried for a minute!"

Cap did not smile in return. "John didn't pass. Apparently he was only a couple of points off. He can retake the exam in six months. Plus he has to take some courses to recertify. He'll be temporarily assigned to 127's. The squad is out of service until his replacement gets here."

Roy's smile abruptly faded, the shock registering in his eyes. After hearing the first words, the rest of Cap's statement was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears. "Didn't pass…." he whispered to himself incredulously. His awareness shrank to the space surrounding the chair in which he sat. He recalled Johnny's words in the squad after they had rushed a young girl to Rampart a few weeks ago. How his partner had said that he didn't want to go back to the engine. How he had said that he didn't know what he would do if he couldn't be a paramedic. While Johnny seemed almost carefree on the surface, Roy knew that his true feelings ran deeply and were not something that he casually shared. The clownish façade was his way of safeguarding that which he valued most. Roy didn't notice Cap come out from behind the desk to stand in front of him.

"Roy?" Cap asked for what must have been the third time, eyes carefully searching Roy's face.

Roy's eyes focused slowly. "Uh, I'm s-sorry, Cap. I wasn't listening. What do you mean Johnny didn't pass? How could he not pass?" The idea of Johnny failing the exam was preposterous. "You aren't joking with me, are you?" He seized on that last thought, hoping.

Cap perched on the edge of the desk and fixed a hard look on Roy. "I wouldn't joke about this. I don't know what happened. All I know is that HQ called this morning to say that Gage did not pass the exam and that he would need to be reassigned somewhere else until he can recertify."

"Are you sure there's no mistake? How could he not pass? He's one of the best damned paramedics around!" Roy exclaimed with a mixture of incredulity and incomprehension. His glance darted around the room, as if the walls held an answer to his questions there.

"All I know is what I've just told you." Cap appeared as frustrated by the sketchiness of the information he had been given as he was by the news itself.

"I don't believe it. I can't believe it." Roy shook his head.

Cap stood and put his hand on Roy's shoulder. "To tell you the truth, I can't believe it myself. Go get changed and put your stuff in your locker." Cap looked at his watch and clenched his jaw. "We'll have roll call in ten minutes. I'll talk to John when he gets here." He escorted the shell-shocked paramedic to the door. "And, Roy? You know my door is open any time." Roy nodded mutely before making his way to the locker room.

* * *

Ten minutes later Cap was reading the duty roster to the assembled men. "C-shift was really busy yesterday and didn't have time to do much else. There is a lot of hose that needs to be cleaned and hung. DeSoto and Stoker, that's you_." _

Roy nodded, grateful that he had something physical to do with someone who would not spend the day yapping at him.

"Lopez, kitchen. Kelly, latrine."

"Latrine again. Why do I always get latrine?" Chet grumbled sotto voice.

"Got a problem with that, Kelly?" growled Cap, glaring at Chet.

Chet stood up straighter. "No, sir."

Just then the sound of wheels sliding on gravel signaled a car pulling rapidly into the parking lot. A car door slammed, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Four heads turned expectantly towards the door, but Roy couldn't bring himself to look. He knew Johnny would be able to see the truth in his eyes

"Gage is gonna get it," sing-songed Chet softly, unable to resist.

"Shut up, Kelly," Cap glowered at the man. "Dismissed." He waved his hand in the general direction of the others as he turned away. Johnny burst through the door, took in the sight of the missed roll-call and an angry-looking captain heading his way, and started to make his excuses, saying, "Sorry I'm late! Cap, I can explain…"

Cap cut him off. "Gage! In my office. Now!" He turned and walked away. Johnny raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders in Roy's direction, then followed Cap into the office. What he didn't see was the pained expression on Roy's face.

* * *

Cap preceded him into the office and silently indicated that Johnny should take a seat.

"Cap, I'm sorry I'm late. I can explain…"

Cap shook his head and put up his hand to forestall any further explanations. "That doesn't matter right now." He sat on the edge of his desk, reluctant to say what needed to be said. "I got a call from HQ this morning. It's about the exam. I'm sorry, but you didn't pass."

Johnny's mouth gaped slightly and he shook his head, not believing his ears. Face paling as his hands tightened on the arms of the chair, he swallowed twice. "I didn't pass?" he said almost inaudibly. "I had to have passed!" he exclaimed loudly, jumping up from the chair, disbelief evident in his expression. "I knew that stuff! It wasn't that hard! There must be some mistake!" He pushed his thick, unruly hair back from his forehead.

"Sit down, Gage, and hear the rest of it." Cap ordered, not unkindly.

Johnny slowly sat down again, still shaking his head. "I couldn't have failed. I know I didn't do that badly. I know that stuff." He tapped his chest for emphasis as he looked up at Cap. "I know that stuff!"

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Cap shifted uneasily on his perch. "They said you can retake the exam in six months, plus you have to take some classes to recertify. In the meantime, you'll be assigned to 127's."

"There has got to be some kind of mistake! What do they mean 'I did not pass the exam?'" Johnny's tone and face eloquently conveyed what he thought of that notion.

"They didn't give me the details. All they said is that you didn't miss by much."

"What the hell does that mean? Well, I don't believe it! I just don't believe it!"

"I'm having a hard time believing it myself. I've seen you work. I saw you and Roy studying. I know you two are the best. I don't know. Maybe you just had an off day or something."

Johnny leaned back in the chair, looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, and blew out a short breath. "Well, uh, actually, I, uh, didn't do much studying while I was camping. I mean, it seemed easy enough the first time. I figured I knew it. I didn't think there was going to be a problem." Johnny stopped talking as the idea that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been as well prepared as he thought began to form in his mind.

"At the risk of stating the obvious, Gage, are you telling me that you didn't study for the exam?" Cap's voice rose with irritation.

"I did study," Johnny protested weakly. After a beat he added in a subdued voice, "I guess it wasn't enough." His head started to ache and a lump formed in the pit of his stomach.

"I guess not." Cap folded his arms across his chest

Johnny let his head drop back against the wall behind the chair and closed his eyes_. 'Omigod._' It was both curse and prayer. "Who else knows?"

"I spoke with Roy this morning."

"Did he pass?" The sudden surge of jealousy both surprised and shamed him.

"Yes."

"Good."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room once more. Cap shifted position again, carefully evaluating the paramedic with his eyes. "Are you up to working at 127's today? They've been filling their shift with overtime requests. They could do it again today."

Johnny opened his eyes and nodded numbly. "I'll get my stuff."

The two men rose to leave the office. Cap put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I'm really sorry about this, John."

"Yeah. Me too."

* * *

Four sets of eyes had watched the procession to Cap's office, waiting to talk until the two men were out of earshot.

"Wow! Johnny sure picked a bad day to be late! Cap's really pissed today!" commented Marco, hands on hips. Mike nodded in agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Gage is gonna get it!" Chet sing-songed once again, with a smirk.

Roy tossed an exasperated glare at Chet. He ran his hand through his hair and stared distantly at the closed door of Cap's office, wondering how the interview was going. "That's not why Cap is so upset," he said softly.

"Oh yeah? Then what's eating him this morning?" Chet moved in front of Roy, arms crossed, looking expectantly into his face. "You were in there with him earlier. Give."

Roy stepped back a half a pace, sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow, wondering if he should share the news or not. He figured that it might be easier on Johnny if he didn't have to tell the guys himself. "Cap got the results of the paramedic exam this morning. Johnny didn't make it."

The stunned silence that greeted this pronouncement was broken by the sound of Craig Brice's voice saying, "So Gage didn't pass the exam?"

Then three voices began speaking at once. "What! What do you mean he didn't make it?" "Madre de Dios! This is not possible!" "Johnny didn't pass the exam?"

Roy raised his hands, futilely trying to maintain his personal space, as Chet, Marco and Mike crowded suffocatingly close. "I ... I don't know. Cap said that HQ called this morning and told him that Johnny didn't pass the exam." Roy swallowed. "I don't know." Still half not believing the news, his thoughts were flowing like molasses.

"Now you all know I like to yank Gage's chain. But he's a damned good paramedic. There has to be some mistake!" Chet fairly bounced on his toes with indignation.

"Yes, he's the best! Surely this is a mistake!" added Marco.

Mike just shook his head. "I can't believe it!"

The four men stared at each other in disbelief. "Well, if you ask me …" began Brice, in his calm, rational voice.

"Shut up, Brice," snapped Chet.

"Shh! They're coming," said Marco, who happened to be standing where he could see the door to Cap's office open.

* * *

Johnny stopped short when he saw the others still standing in the engine bay, looking like a bunch of deer caught in the headlights.

Cap, who had been hard on Johnny's heels, nearly bumped into him. "Don't you men have work to do?" he barked over Johnny's shoulder. Chet and Marco pivoted into each other in their haste to retreat to their assigned duties.

"What's my assignment, Captain?" inquired Brice.

"Later, Brice," snapped Cap, amazed at the man's seeming obliviousness to the situation. He gave Johnny a gentle push in the small of the back to start him walking towards the locker room again.

Brice turned to face Johnny. "Sorry you didn't pass the exam, Gage. You probably would have if you went more by the book instead of always trying to make up the rules as you go and …"

Brice didn't have time to finish his sentence as Johnny lunged at him. Cap and Roy managed to restrain Johnny, while Mike yanked Brice back beyond Johnny's reach.

"Mike, take Brice into the kitchen and get a cup of coffee or something!" Exasperation edged Cap's voice.

"Okay, easy, Pal! Settle down! You okay? You okay?" He placed a calming hand on Johnny's chest. "Look, I know you're upset." Cap's voice trailed off as he watched the paramedic's reaction closely. Johnny was breathing hard, but not struggling against their grip. A muscle twitched along his jaw, while his gaze was fixed on a spot across the engine bay.

Johnny shrugged free and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. Sorry. Sorry. I'll go to 127's. Just let me get my stuff out of my locker." He strode quickly over to the locker room without looking back.

Cap and Roy silently watched him go. "Uh, Roy … Could you go talk to him for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure, Cap."

* * *

Roy found Johnny standing motionless in front of his locker, staring at nothing. He paused in the doorway, watching for a minute before clearing his throat. Johnny startled, looked over to the doorway, then back at his locker again, banging the door open and grabbing a paper sack.

Roy moved farther into the room. "There's got to be some mistake. I can't believe you didn't pass the exam. You know the computer screwed up last time. Maybe something happened this time, too."

"I don't know. Part of me can't believe it, either. I'm sure I knew that stuff. It seemed so easy. I was so sure I would pass. I thought I knew that stuff." Johnny said tonelessly, staring into the locker, the burst of energy apparently spent.

"You do know it! I know you know it! We studied everything together! I know you passed!" Roy protested, hoping that if he said it enough times, it would be true.

"You studied everything, Roy. I goofed around in the mountains for two days. I screwed up big time! I didn't pass!" His voice grew louder with each phrase. He hurriedly began stuffing his belongings into the paper sack.

Roy opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

The frenetic activity in front of the locker ceased again as suddenly as it had begun.

"I don't want to go back to being just a firefighter." Johnny rested his forehead against the open locker door.

The silence thickened the air around the two men. Finally Roy gritted out, "I don't know how to tell you how sorry …" Roy's voice cracked. He stretched out his hand. Johnny flinched and Roy let the hand drop back to his side.

"At least let me help you with that." Roy reached briskly for the paper sack. Johnny made room for Roy in front of the locker. Roy dumped the contents of the sack out onto the bench and began folding the clothing more neatly. The rest of the items in the locker were transferred to the paper sack in silence. Johnny stared at Smokey for a long moment before carefully peeling the tape off the poster. He rolled it up, added it to the bag and closed the locker door.

After crossing to the doorway he slowly turned around. "Thanks, Roy. I'm really sorry about sticking you with Brice again." He looked like he tried to smile, but his face wouldn't cooperate.

"Yeah, well don't worry about it." Roy gave a half-smile of his own.

"I'll catch you later."

"Yeah." Roy watched his friend cross the engine bay to where Cap was waiting by the door.

"I'm sorry I lost it there for a minute, Cap." Johnny stared past Cap, out the door. The growing darkness outside matched the gloom within the station.

"Understandable, Pal. Are you sure you're up to this? Do you want to go home?" Cap put his hand on Johnny's shoulder, causing the ex-paramedic to make brief eye contact.

"Cap, you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset. But I really need to work today. I just need to work."

"Okay, Johnny." Cap shook hands and clapped him on the shoulder. "You know my door is always open if you ever want to talk."

"Thanks, Cap. I appreciate that." This time the attempted smile looked little better than a grimace. "See you around."

Johnny walked out of the station and tossed his bag onto the passenger seat of the Land Rover. Roy stood behind Cap, and together they watched Johnny drive away in the drizzle that had started to fall from the sky.

* * *

Roy went into the kitchen for a glass of water. He needed an aspirin. Or two. Or maybe the whole bottle.

Brice was standing next to the table, waiting impatiently to get to work. "Shall we inventory the supplies, DeSoto?" His bland expression made it appear as if he were unaffected by the present mood of the station.

Roy glared at Brice. "I am going to hang hose." His hand trembled slightly, sloshing the water in the cup. "Go alphabetize the drug box, Brice." He slammed the cup down on the sink counter. "Alphabetize everything in the damned squad." Roy stormed out of the kitchen. "And leave the friggin' compartments unlocked!" he yelled back over his shoulder.

Cap caught Roy's arm as he swept out the door and pulled him aside as gently as he could. "It just started raining. Why don't you go clean up the dorm?" he quietly suggested. Cap watched Roy's retreating back until he rounded the corner. The sound of a foot connecting solidly with a trashcan was heard.

Brice gazed nonplussed in the direction Roy had left. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stated to no one in particular, "Well, that certainly wasn't very professional of him."

'_This is going to be one helluva long shift_.' Cap leaned against the doorjamb as silence descended upon the station. Now he had a headache, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Friday, November 19:**

_**Station 127**_

Johnny had a long talk with himself on the way to 127s. It was not a particularly pleasant conversation. The rain was pouring down in sheets by the time he pulled into the parking lot. He grabbed his paper sack, ducked out of the car and sprinted into the station.

Captain Walker, a trim man in his late 40's with a proud, military demeanor, was there to greet him. He had the opportunity to substitute for Captain Stanley a couple of summers ago and remembered being impressed with all the men. "Glad to have you here today, Gage." Captain Walker shook Johnny's hand firmly. He believed that a man's handshake revealed a lot about the person. He was aware of the events that led to Johnny's being temporarily assigned to 127's. Satisfied by the strength in Johnny's grip, he said, "We can always use a seasoned firefighter. Especially in bad weather like this." A gust of wind and rain bore witness to Captain Walker's words. "Do you know Mark Smith?" he asked, as a tall firefighter with closely cropped blond hair approached.

Johnny shook his head no. "Mark Smith, John Gage. John Gage, Mark Smith. Smith is one of the engineers." Captain Walker introduced the two men. "Smith, take Gage to the locker room and get him settled. Oh, and Gage?" Captain Walker turned back to Johnny. "As the last man in today, we've saved the honor of latrine duty for you." Captain Walker flashed a smile and chuckled as he turned to go to his office. He believed that latrine duty was also a good test of a man's mettle.

"Thanks, Cap." Johnny returned a weak smile before following Mark to the locker room.

"So, you usually work at 51's?" Mark fished for information about the new arrival.

"Uh, yeah." Johnny changed the subject. "How long have you been here?"

"About two months. Toby Barnes and I came from Idaho together." As they had arrived at the locker room, Mark indicated which one Johnny could use. "Come down the hall to the kitchen when you're done, and I'll show you around."

* * *

Johnny stowed his gear and started to change into his uniform. He began to button his shirt and then thought better of it. He took it back off and gazed at the paramedic insignia on the arm. '_I don't have any right to wear this_.' He fished in the locker for his bandage scissors. Working carefully so as not to damage either the patch or the shirt, he clipped the threads and pulled the insignia free. A circle of blue just a shade darker than the rest of the shirt bore mute testimony to the ghost of Johnny's paramedic career. _'Won't be needing these scissors any more either._' He held the scissors in his hands for a moment. They felt so right. '_Should I throw them in the trash?_' He wasn't ready to let go just yet. Johnny sighed and shoved both the insignia and the scissors into his locker, hurriedly finished dressing and then went in search of Mark in the kitchen.

* * *

Station 127 housed two engines and was staffed by a crew of eight, including the captain. Mark gave Johnny a quick tour of the station and then introduced him to rest of the crew.

Ioane Atuaia was a big man with broad shoulders. He was of Samoan-Chinese descent and had a ready smile and the open, friendly attitude common to many Polynesians. "Pleased to meet you, _braddah_. We have the same name. My name, Ioane, means 'John' in Samoan," he introduced himself with a grin.

Keith Roberts, an African American man whose hobby was bodybuilding, had worked with Johnny before. He was a serious, private man of few words, but he and Johnny had immediately hit it off nonetheless. He shook hands with Johnny. "Glad to see you again."

Steve Johnson, the other engineer, was a dark-haired, mustachioed man. Mark warned Johnny that Steve was the main practical joker of the station. Johnny would be riding on the engine with these first three men.

Toby Barnes, a big-boned, redheaded man with a florid complexion, wore his hair cropped short like a marine. He nodded curtly at Johnny, arms crossed against his chest. Hostility glittered in his eyes.

Manuel Esteves, a Mexican American man of medium build, reminded Johnny of Marco, sans mustache. His eyes bespoke a lively sense of humor. He welcomed Johnny with a warm handshake and a smile.

Mark was the engineer for the second rig; Captain Walker was the fourth man aboard her.

Tour and introductions complete, Mark led the way to the cleaning supply closet. Johnny gathered the brushes, rags, buckets and assorted cleansers needed for the task.

He tackled the chore energetically, glad to have something mindless and physical to occupy his time. "Damned cleanser," he muttered as his eyes began to water from the fumes. '_Chet would love this_.' Johnny scrubbed vigorously at the tiles, determined to make this the cleanest latrine in L.A.

It was the lunch hour by the time he finished. True to the unwritten cosmic joke of the universe, as soon as the men sat down to eat they were toned out. "Battalion 10; Station 127. Assist with mudslide at Blackwater Canyon Road, nearest cross-street, Williamsburg. Time out 12:05."


	4. Chapter 4

**Friday, November 19:**

_**Blackwater Canyon Road**_

Blackwater Canyon Road was located in Rolling Hills, about 5 miles away as the crow flies from 127's territory. The rains had unleashed a torrent of mud down the hill behind several homes. Houses had been shoved off their foundations by the flow. The force of the mud had also ripped apart carports, gazebos, covered patios and other freestanding structures. Mud, rocks and debris were everywhere, hampering access to the homes. Downed power lines and ruptured gas lines complicated the dangerous situation until they could be shut off.

Fortunately, not too many residents had been home at mid-day. But a few victims were still trapped inside the wreckage of their homes.

The first-on-scene commander directed the two crews of 127's to assist with searching for victims in homes located on the far end of the road. The men gathered the few necessary tools and equipment they would be able to carry and began making their way through the obstacle-strewn mud. Their feet slid in the slippery goo, despite their boots. And when they didn't slide, the mud sucked at their feet, seemingly reluctant to allow the rescuers passage.

The handi-talkie sputtered to life with a report of a victim in one of the last homes along the road. Johnny found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Toby Barnes as they struggled to move some debris blocking access to the house. "Put some muscle in it, skinny boy! We ain't getting anywhere here!"

Ioane Atuaia added his considerable strength to moving the obstacle. Still, it wouldn't budge. "Forget it! Let's see if we can climb around the back." He motioned for Johnny to follow him.

"Hello! Anyone out there?" They were heading for the back of the house when they heard the call. Matthew Bartholomew, a rookie paramedic whom Johnny had mentored as a trainee a few times, heard them in the front and shouted for assistance. "I need help back here!"

Matt had his hands full applying deep pressure to the artery just behind the top back of the right knee on a female whose lower leg presented a complete open fracture of the tibia. She was going into shock. Johnny removed his turnout coat and tucked it around the rest of the victim's body. As Matt reported his assessment on the victim, he noticed the slightly darker blue circle on the sleeve of Johnny's uniform. Johnny had caught the glance at the shirtsleeve and was pointedly looking in another direction. "Hey, you lost your patch somewhere," commented Matt.

For an instant Johnny couldn't breathe and there was a stabbing pain in his chest. Apparently Matt hadn't heard the news yet. "Yeah, something like that." He realized that the rookie was waiting for him to take charge of the scene. "Do you want us to try to get her out of here now or do you want to wait?"

"I think now. The sooner, the better. She's getting really shocky. Let's get the bleeding stopped and the leg splinted. Then we'll use the handi-talkie to set up a relay to Rampart. I've got some 4x4s in the pack."

Johnny reached into the pack on the paramedic's back. Since Matt was still holding onto the artery, he had to prepare and apply the pressure bandage himself.

"We need to find something to make a splint and a stretcher. It will take too long for anyone to get them to us here," Matt said.

Johnny nodded and a wooden ironing board poking out of the mud caught his attention. It would serve both as splint and as something for the "grab and carry." He and Ioane broke the legs off to make the splint.

"We need something we can tear into strips to secure her." Johnny said, unconsciously expecting Ioane to locate something, and the firefighter was able to oblige. Oddly enough, a muddy sheet was still half hanging on the clothesline, which they quickly ripped into strips.

After they had splinted the leg, Matt began to prepare the IV that he knew would be ordered, while Johnny set up the relay to Rampart.

"That's 5 mg MS. 10-4."

Matt was still working with the victim and made no move to obtain the ordered drug. "5 mg MS, Matt." Johnny repeated.

"It's in the pack," the young paramedic replied without looking up.

Johnny hesitated fractionally, selected the correct vial out of the pack, handed it to Matt, and then busied himself with the ironing board.

Matt didn't have time to consider the other man's puzzling behavior as he administered the morphine.

When the victim was as stabilized as much as conditions would allow, the three lifted her onto the makeshift stretcher. Johnny had her shoulders, Matt had the splinted leg and Ioane had her hips. "Okay, on three. One, two, three."

The three men began the slippery journey back to the staging area. As they struggled through the mud, Manuel Esteves joined them in their efforts. Upon reaching their destination, they set the victim down near the rescue squads. "I'll get Jensen for you." Johnny indicated another nearby paramedic with a jerk of his head.

"Hey wait! Aren't you going to give me a hand here?" Astonishment was written on Matt's face and evident in his voice.

"Can't, Matt. I'm not licensed any more." Johnny's voice was tight.

"I'll be damned," Matt said softly as he watched Johnny slog through the sticky mud to fetch Jensen.

* * *

Back at the station, the exhausted and muddy firefighters cleaned up themselves and their equipment before sitting down to dinner.

Even though he had missed lunch, Johnny had no appetite. Dinner consisted of the somewhat overcooked remains of the meal that had been prepared earlier. He stirred the food in his bowl while the conversation of the other firefighters eddied around him. The sound of their voices blended with the hum of the traffic outside and the buzz of the florescent lights overhead.

"Gage!" The sound of his name penetrated his awareness. Johnny looked over at Toby Barnes.

"Ain't you gonna eat that, skinny boy? Why, that's an insult to my mama's recipe!" Johnny had noticed that Barnes' attempts at humor were often thinly veiled barbs.

"No, Barnes. You're an insult to your mama's recipe," joked Ioane in his role as self-appointed station facilitator.

Johnny carried his bowl over to the sink and began scraping the contents into the disposal.

"Hey, skinny boy! You ain't gonna just throw that away, are you?" Barnes continued to needle.

"I guess I'm more tired than hungry. Give my regards to your mama." He tried to keep it light as he rinsed out his dishes and put them in the dish drainer.

"You paramedic boys are too soft. I guess you just can't handle being a real firefighter, either."

Everybody froze at the remark that was a little too personal.

Johnny splayed his hands on the counter, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. He turned around and locked eyes with Barnes, his expression carefully neutral. Nodding once at the man, he exited the kitchen.

"Whoa, Toby," Mark Smith cautioned quietly.

"Uppity paramedics. Always thinkin' they're better than the rest of us. Need to be taken down a notch or two," Barnes grumbled defensively.

"Stow it, Barnes!" ordered Captain Walker. "Since you seem to have so much excess energy, you can clean up the kitchen." He glared around the room, his thunderous expression warning the rest of the firefighters that he was not going to tolerate this kind of behavior. His men had to live together for twenty-four hours at a time, almost like a family, and as a result, knew each other's strengths and weaknesses well. Sometimes too well. Captain Walker knew that toes would be stepped on; it was unavoidable. But, they had to be able to work together smoothly as a unit. He couldn't let one man disrupt the unity of the whole. In order to function, they had to know that they could rely on each other for assistance. Or, for their lives. There was no room for intolerance. "Play nice, boys, or I'll have you hanging hose till your fingers bleed." He turned smartly on his heel and left the room.

* * *

Captain Walker found Johnny outside, aimlessly watching the clouds chase across the moon. The storm front appeared to be breaking up.

"So, Gage. You doing all right?" Walker's keen eyes appraised the young man. He knew Johnny was angry and upset. He would have been seriously concerned if the paramedic did not seem to care. Not caring was a sure sign of burnout. And a burned-out firefighter was dangerous not only to himself, but also to the rest of the crew.

"Yes, sir. I'm okay." His voice held a note of carefully constructed calmness.

Captain Walker grunted noncommittally, his hands clasped behind his back. "If you need to talk, Gage, I'm a good listener."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer." Both men watched the clouds for a few more moments.

"Kind of chilly out here, Gage. Let's go back inside." It was an order, not a suggestion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Friday, November 19:**

_**Station 51**_

Roy backed the squad into the bay and turned off the engine. As Brice started to exit the squad, Roy stopped him with a word. "Brice? I'd like to apologize for this morning. I was upset about the situation with Johnny and shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Understood, DeSoto. Apology accepted." Brice nodded his head calmly, his expression never changing.

An irritated look of incredulity crossed Roy's face. "Brice," he began. Then shaking his head, he concluded, "Never mind."

Brice gazed out the window of the squad for a moment. "We function better if we don't become emotionally involved, DeSoto. There is a time and a place for everything." With that cryptic comment, he got out of the squad and crossed over to the kitchen, leaving Roy sitting with his head resting upon his hands on the steering wheel.

Cap noticed Brice coming into the kitchen alone. When Roy did not appear in a few minutes, Cap went in search of him. Upon seeing Roy's figure in the squad, Cap walked over. He leaned down to the window. "Roy?"

Roy looked up, his expression bleak. "I'm going to kill Brice. And then I'm going to kill Johnny."

Cap snorted. "I know the feeling, Pal. I know the feeling."


	6. Chapter 6

**Saturday, November 20:**

_**Station 127**_

Although the station had not been toned out again during the night, Johnny had been sleepless nonetheless. He had tossed and turned half the night before finally giving up and going to the break room. He sat in the nearly dark room, listening to the ticking of the clock accompanied by the counterpoint dripping of the sink. '_I should have studied more. Why didn't I study more? How could I have been so stupid?_' The thoughts were as steady and never-ending as the quiet background rhythm.

Irritation with the noise and with himself drove him to his feet, where he began pacing a circuit between the break room and the kitchen. He reviewed the exam in his mind, unable to pinpoint what he might have missed. _'How could I not have passed the exam?'_ he asked himself for what must have been the millionth time. He had originally become a firefighter out of a desire to help other people. While battling blazes offered both excitement and challenge, working with people gave him the most satisfaction. Of course, firefighters helped people, too; the very reason for going into burning buildings centered more on helping people than merely saving an object. But it just wasn't the same for him. The need to be able to do more than perform CPR or apply a bandage on injured people was the main impetus behind his application for paramedic's training. Being a paramedic was more than just something he did. Being a paramedic defined his being. Being a paramedic was his life.

At 6:00 a.m. the lights came on and the morning wake-up klaxon sounded to rouse the rest of the crew. The men went about their preparations for the day. Most of B-shift started to arrive shortly before 7:00 a.m.

"Hey, Johnny. Whatcha doin' slumming over here at 127's?" Joshua Garside greeted Johnny as he came in.

"I'm, ah, I'm going to be stationed here for a while."

Joshua frowned. "Are they starting up a paramedic program here? I didn't hear anything about that..."

'_Maybe I should wear a sign.'_ "No." Johnny looked around for an avenue of escape. Seeing none and noting the confusion on Joshua's face, he confessed, "I didn't pass the paramedic exam."

"Oh, man! I'm sorry to hear that!" Joshua appeared both sympathetic and uncomfortable. "Well, gotta get changed. See you around, Johnny."

"See you, Josh." Johnny checked at his watch again. '_Ten more minutes._'


	7. Chapter 7

**Saturday, November 20:**

_**Johnny's Place**_

Johnny pulled into his parking spot at the apartment a little past eight o'clock. Detours due to a new road construction project had made the trip home longer than usual. Since he had not slept at all at 127s, he was planning to crash in the solitude of his own apartment. Weary of the never-ending stream of thoughts parading through his head, he wanted nothing more than to escape the accusatory voices for a while in the silence of sleep.

Heading up the stairs, he nodded politely to his landlady. The elderly woman tended to be quite garrulous and today he just wasn't in the mood to humor her. However, the landlady had other plans. "Mr. Gage? I'm wondering if you could help me with a little project this morning?"

Keeping his irritation to himself, he responded, "Sure, Mrs. Carter. Let me just put these things away and I'll be right back." Mrs. Carter was a genteel, old-fashioned woman who looked like she had been transplanted from the previous century. Her hair was always neatly coiffed in a chignon and even her clothing was timelessly classic. She also didn't charge as much rent as she could have for his apartment, a favor which he usually returned by assisting with her little projects whenever she asked.

When he arrived at her apartment, Mrs. Carter explained what she had in mind. She was making hanging shelves out of ropes and wood. She had already sanded and varnished several pieces of wood. To finish the project, holes needed to be drilled in the wood, the ropes had to be measured, cut, knotted and inserted, and hooks would have to be anchored to the ceiling. Johnny figured the job would take a couple of hours, based on his past experience with her exacting standards and her proclivity for small talk.

Mrs. Carter brought him a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies as she chatted about the goings on of the various tenants in the building and people in the neighborhood. He ate just one cookie to satisfy the demands of politeness. Johnny didn't do much to keep up his end of the conversation, but the woman took no notice as she talked about everything from the weather to the atrocious clothing young people seemed to favor these days.

The eleven o'clock hour had just passed by the time Johnny got the shelves precisely hung to his landlady's satisfaction. "Oh, that's exactly what I wanted, Mr. Gage! You've done a marvelous job!" Mrs. Carter beamed at her tenant.

"You're welcome." Johnny managed a real smile.

"Oh my! Look at the time! I had no idea it was so late! Would you like to stay for lunch?"

"No, thank you. We had a busy shift yesterday and I need to get some sleep."

"Oh, dear!" she fussed. "I didn't mean to keep you. Why didn't you say something?"

"I wasn't tired earlier," he lied, not wanting to hurt the woman's feelings. "I was happy to do it for you." This part was true. Making the shelves, accompanied by the landlady's stream-of-consciousness chatter, had afforded an excellent distraction from his roiling self-talk.

"Well then, have a good nap, Mr. Gage. And thank you again for my beautiful shelves!" Mrs. Carter waved good-bye from the doorway to her apartment.

Johnny trudged up the stairs to his apartment and fumbled with the key in the lock for a minute before finally getting the door open. "Flippin' thing always sticks after it rains," he grumbled to himself. He momentarily considered trying to fix it, but discarded the idea as a bone-weary fatigue began to settle on him. Feeling as though he might be able to sleep, he headed for the bedroom and lay down. Half an hour later, when his mind refused to shut up even though the rest of him wanted desperately to be asleep, he decided to give up and wandered into the kitchen for something to eat.

As he foraged in the cabinets for something easy to make, he came across an unopened bottle of whiskey that someone had given him for Christmas last year. He pulled it out thoughtfully. This just might be his ticket to slumber. He hadn't intended to drink more than a shot or two, but after the initial fire, the welcome numbness increased with each swallow and he found himself downing several more. He left the bottle on the kitchen counter and was just crossing over to the sofa to lie down when a knock sounded at the door. "Now what?" he said aloud, glaring at the door. He traversed the distance a bit unsteadily and opened the door to find Roy standing there. Although Roy was his best friend, he was just about the last person he wanted to see. He knew he wasn't ready to discuss the events that had transpired with any degree of rationality. Or, with any degree of irrationality, for that matter. All he really wanted to do was to finish drinking himself asleep. He didn't want any witnesses to such behavior. Not even Roy.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. When Johnny didn't say anything, Roy held up a paper sack. "I, uh, didn't know if you had lunch yet. I got some burgers and fries."

Johnny looked at the bag and swayed a little to one side of the doorway. "D'ya wanna come in?" His speech was not quite as precise as usual.

Roy set the sack on the table, and began pulling the food out. Johnny carefully crossed over to the cupboard and grabbed a couple of plates. He set them on the table and then returned to the refrigerator for some ketchup. "You want a beer?" he asked over his shoulder, grabbing one for himself.

"Sure."

Johnny brought the ketchup and the beer to table, opened his beer, then plopped down gracelessly in the chair.

They ate and drank in an uneasy silence, not quite making eye contact.

"I don't want to talk about it." Johnny was pushing the food around on his plate, having taken only a few bites.

"Okay."

Both men sipped their respective beverages in silence. A few more minutes ticked by. Johnny started talking. "I don't know most of the guys over at 127's. Only Keith Roberts." Johnny paused, considering the members of A shift at 127's. "Ever hear of a guy named Toby Barnes?"

Roy shook his head no.

"Well, he's a real pain to work with. Don't know what's the matter with him. He's got a chip on his shoulder the size of New York."

Roy shrugged. "Is Walker still the captain?"

"Yeah. He's all right. Remember that crazy shift we had with him a couple of years ago when the Santa Ana's were really blowing?" The corners of Johnny's mouth quirked drunkenly upwards at the memory. The Santa Ana winds always made people crazy. Nobody knew exactly why.

Roy smiled in return. "Yeah, I do."

Johnny frowned down at his beer. "This Barnes guy, though." He took another swallow of his beer. "Glad we don't have anyone like that at our … uh, at 51's." He had deliberately begun to distance himself from a life that might not exist for him any more.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Huh?"

"You started to say 'our station' and then changed it to '51's.' What's that supposed to mean?" Roy demanded somewhat angrily.

"Uh, I don't think I'll be coming back to 51's."

"Why not?"

"Think about it, Roy." He gripped the beer tightly, fingers making slight indentations in the can. "If I couldn't pass the exam the first time, what makes you think I could pass it six months from now? Or even six months after that?"

"You can always study …"

"I did study!" He banged the empty can on the table for emphasis. "It's not like I didn't study at all, you know!" Johnny rested his forehead against the heel of his hand.

"Don't you think you should think about this a little?" Roy's voice sounded harsh.

Johnny stood up abruptly, angry again. He took a breath as the room lurched around him. "I did think about it. I thought about it all night." He tossed the can at the rubbish bin. It bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. "I've thought about it every second since Cap told me I didn't pass the damned exam!" He nudged the can with his shoe as he staggered over to the refrigerator. "Wanna 'nother beer?" His words slurred as he asked Roy over his shoulder while reaching in for another can. Johnny was definitely intoxicated.

Roy's expression was puzzled. "Uh, no. Don't you think you've had enough?"

"I need it to sleep," he replied, his expression defying Roy to say more.

"Okay." Roy decided to back down and take a different tack. "You don't mind if I make some coffee, do you?"

"Go ahead. Knock yourself out. It's up there." Leaning against the refrigerator, he waved his hand in the general vicinity of the cupboards. Odd that there seemed to be twice as many of them as usual right now. He sensed that he was just about ready to pass out, coffee or no coffee. The alcohol, combined with the lack of food and sleep over the past thirty hours, was finally producing the desired effect.

Roy had seen the bottle on the counter as he began to make the coffee. That would explain why Johnny was so drunk after just two beers. Noticing the stuporous expression on Johnny's face, Roy came up beside him, grasping him by the elbow, and said, "Let's go to the living room." He put the opened beer can that was in Johnny's hand on the floor and got his friend settled on the sofa. He then sat in a nearby chair. The room was silent for a few minutes.

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what to do."

Roy looked away, unable to face the soul-deep pain that dwelt behind the statement. He had no answers, no easy balm with which to soothe his partner's spirit. When he finally looked back over to Johnny, he had already fallen asleep. With a sigh, he went into the bedroom and retrieved a blanket, which he tucked around the sleeping form, watching the lines on Johnny's face relax as he sunk into alcohol-induced unconsciousness.

Roy didn't know what to do, either. He'd never seen his partner like this before. So hurt. So devastated. So lost. He felt vaguely responsible for Johnny's not passing the exam. Perhaps if he had agreed to go camping in the mountains that weekend, things might have turned out differently. As he turned to leave, he spotted the remains of the fast food meal on the table in the kitchen. He gathered them up and threw them into the rubbish bin. This small act of caring was the least he could do for his partner.

After checking on Johnny again, Roy left the apartment, making sure the door locked behind him.

* * *

About an hour after Roy left, Johnny suddenly woke up. His feet tangled with the blanket in his haste to reach the bathroom. He made it in time however, and spent the next unpleasant hour purging his system of the poison he had consumed. Rinsing his mouth out, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked like crap. Felt like it, too. He thought about taking a shower, but it was too much effort. Wandering back into the living room, he collapsed on the sofa once more, waiting for sleep to overtake him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sunday, November 21:**

_**Johnny's Place**_

An annoying noise penetrated his slumber. Finally identifying the sound as the phone ringing, he groped around until his hand hit the receiver. "Hello?" His voice came out as a croak. His tongue would not cooperate and his mouth felt like a herd of buffalo had slept there for a thousand years.

"Hi, John. I'm sorry, did I wake you?" The voice on the line belonged to Cap.

"Uh, no, that's okay." Johnny wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and blearily regarded the clock. The face read 8:30. Johnny cleared his throat. "I was just getting up. Uh, I promised Roy I'd help him scrape the paint off his eaves today." He half remembered making such a promise sometime earlier and was glad for an excuse not to talk to Cap.

"I see. Well, I'll let you go, then. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Thanks, Cap. I appreciate that."

Johnny put the receiver back on the hook and considered the circumstances that had led to him awakening fully clothed on the sofa. He didn't remember all the events of the previous day. In fact, the last thing he remembered somewhat clearly was Roy's arrival at the door with food. He didn't remember exactly what they had talked about and he hoped he had not said anything too embarrassing. Wincing at the stiffness in his body as he got up and trying to stretch a bit, he accidentally struck a half-empty can of beer, tipping it over. He frowned in irritation at the growing puddle on the carpet. Sighing, he started to reach down to clean up the mess, but the folly of bending over became immediately apparent. He decided to head for the shower instead.

A hot shower revived him somewhat. The buffalo were gone from his mouth. They were now stampeding in his head. He figured he had better call Roy to let him know he was still coming over to help.

Joanne answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi Joanne. It's Johnny. Is Roy there?"

"Yes. Just a minute. I'll get him."

"Thanks." Johnny supposed that Roy had told Joanne what had happened. He was grateful that she had the good grace not to say anything. "Did he already start scraping the eaves?"

"No, he didn't. Here he is now." There was the sound of a phone being handed over and the low murmur of voices.

"Hi Johnny." Roy sounded like he had woken up not too long ago himself.

"Hi Roy. You still want some help today?" He tried to make the carefully modulated tones sound quite casual.

"Yeah. Are you coming?" Roy yawned into the phone.

"Yeah. I'll be there in a few minutes." Johnny would have sworn he could hear the buffalo bellowing now.

"Got a headache?" Roy guessed, judging from the timbre of Johnny's voice and how intoxicated he had appeared the previous day.

"Killer."

"Are you sure you want to come?"

"I said I'd be there."

"Okay. See you soon."

* * *

Johnny arrived at Roy's house shortly before ten o'clock. Dark circles under the eyes and haggard cheeks eloquently told the truth about how he was doing.

"Want some coffee before we start?"

"Yeah, thanks. I could use a cup."

Roy poured out two mugs and handed one to his friend. The silence stretched between them. After a bit he asked, "Did you eat anything?"

Johnny set his cup down and fixed Roy with an irritated look. "No, mother, I didn't."

"You need to eat someth…"

The mention of food aggravated several of the aforementioned buffalo, which were still roaming around in various parts of his body. "You don't need to tell me what to do!"

"Just asking if you ate."

They finished their coffee in awkward silence. "Ready?"

Johnny nodded and carried his cup over to the sink. Roy did the same.

The two men retrieved the chisels and the ladders from Roy's garage. They set up on the south side of the house and got to work. Johnny scraped so vigorously at the peeling paint, that he must have been removing some of the underlying lumber as well.

After several minutes, Johnny began to slow the pace of scraping_. 'What are you so defensive about? You know he's right about needing to eat. You're acting like a jerk, Gage. You aren't going to have any friends left if you keep this up._' He sighed in exasperation with himself and turned slightly on the ladder to face Roy. "Sorry about that."

"No problem." Roy deemed it safe to ask about the condition of the eaves. "Did you leave any wood under there?" A grin played about the corners of his lips.

Johnny snorted in reply, shifted back the other direction and began scraping once again. The silence felt more comfortable this time.

* * *

Several breaks and several hours later, the job was almost done. For a while, Roy had tried to make small talk, but had finally given up on the one-sided conversation.

Ironically, Johnny was doing a better job at scraping paint off the eaves than was Roy. He didn't want to think about anything, so he used the mindless task to focus his attention. Where Roy was distracted and had missed quite a few spots, Johnny's careful concentration had resulted in an almost perfect removal of the peeling paint.

Suddenly Johnny bent over, hand cupped over his left eye. "Dammit!"

"What's the matter?" Roy asked as he hurriedly descended the ladder.

"Got a paint chip in my eye."

Johnny flinched involuntarily when he felt Roy put a hand on his back to help guide him down the ladder.

"Let me see." Roy took Johnny's face in his hands, and drew the upper and lower eyelids away from the eye. "Look up." Johnny used all his energy to move only his eye and not pull away. "I see it. I have some saline in the house." Roy kept his hand on Johnny's back as he steered him to lie down in a chaise lounge on the patio.

Returning with the saline and a cotton swab, Roy gently irrigated the eye and then lightly lifted the chip out with the swab. No longer looking at the injury, Roy looked into Johnny's eyes. "Got it." He involuntarily shrank from the abysmal misery that was there.

"Thanks." Johnny got off the chair and away from Roy's touch as fast as he could. He blinked a couple of times and brushed the water from his face. His eye was still tearing and his nose was running. He looked intensely at the eaves. There was about ten feet left to go. "Let's finish."

"Are you sure?" Roy asked, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

"Yeah. We're almost done. Let's finish."

The task was soon completed. "Are you going to stay for dinner?"

"No, I'm kind of tired."

"How about a beer and a sandwich before you go?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay." Roy nodded and swallowed, unable to think of anything else to say. He accompanied Johnny to the car, thanking him again for the assistance. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"So, when do you want to paint?"

"Later this week, if the weather holds."

"Okay, let me know."

Roy remained at the curb, staring after his friend, long after the Land Rover had pulled away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Monday, November 22:**

_**Station 127**_

Roll call had already been completed and the men of Station 127 were busy with their assigned tasks when the tones sounded.

"Station 127. Structure fire. 1655 South Wilmington Ave. 1-6-5-5 South Wilmington Ave. Cross street East 220th. Time out 7:56."

Seven men scrambled for the engines. Captain Walker acknowledged the call, handed one copy of the address to Steve Johnson and the other to Mark Smith, climbed up into his seat, and the rigs rolled out, sirens wailing.

127's found a very old, somewhat dilapidated three-story apartment building with thick smoke filling the top floor. No flames were visible from the street. Some people came running up to the trucks, screaming about others they feared were still inside. Captain Walker immediately reported a working fire with possible injuries to dispatch and requested a paramedic unit, another engine and a ladder truck.

* * *

"Station 51 for Station 36. Station 95. Working apartment fire with possible injuries. 1655 South Wilmington Ave. 1-6-5-5 South Wilmington Ave. Cross street East 220th. Time out 8:04." The call went out from dispatch.

* * *

Although standing assignments had already been made prior to arriving at the scene, Captain Walker still directed the men and altered the assignments as needed. Lines needed to be dropped and attached to hydrants. Ladders needed to be set up. While the firefighters donned their SCBA and protective clothing, Captain Walker made a quick tour of the perimeter.

"Gage! Shut off the gas and electricity, and begin forcible entry! Atuaia and Roberts! Positive pressure ventilation, attack team, south side! Esteves and Barnes! Positive pressure ventilation, attack team, north side! Smith! Charge the inch-and-a-half lines with water from the hydrant. Johnson! Compressed air foam in a one-inch line!

To the frightened onlookers, the scene was a confusing mass of smoke and noise. Smoke was already beginning to fill the neighborhood, with little wind to make it dissipate. The engines hummed and people shouted. To the firefighters, it was the start of a well-orchestrated battle.

Johnny had just finished ensuring that the gas and electricity were indeed shut off and was reaching for the handi-talkie when it sputtered to life in his pocket.

"HT127 to Fireman Gage. Report."

"This is Gage. Electricity and gas main are shut off. Over."

"10-4, Gage. Go to the north side of the third floor and begin venting."

"10-4"

Upon reaching the third floor, Johnny turned north and threaded his way through the maze-like hallway over to the west side to begin venting. He passed Esteves and Barnes on the way. The smoky corridor felt unusually hot. Upon reaching the last apartment, he felt the door and then opened it. Immediately, the increase in oxygen fed a whoosh of fire that rolled through the room and out into the corridor. The firefighter had dived away from the door as soon as he heard the rumble that presaged the flash. Esteves and Barnes appeared with a hose, aiming it down the hall. Thoroughly disgusted with making a rookie type of mistake, Johnny scrambled in a crouch over to the two firefighters. He was a bit singed and hot, but basically uninjured.

"Are you all right?" Esteves shouted over the roar of the flames and the hiss of the hose, his voice muffled by the SCBA.

"Yeah, I'm okay! Thanks!" Johnny ducked behind the men, stumbling over Barnes' foot on the way out.

Captain Walker had seen the flash from the street below. "Report!" his voice barked over the handi-talkie.

"Fireman Gage. It flashed upon venting. No injuries. Continuing venting. Over."

"Negative on venting. Commence search and rescue on the third floor. Out."

"10-4."

While the crew of 127's had been about their assigned tasks, the engines and the squad from the other stations had arrived at the scene.

Captain Walker directed the ladder truck to the northwest side of the building. Walker then assigned four more firefighters to attack the fire and the remaining men to search and rescue within the building.

Johnny had begun knocking on doors, loudly calling out "Fire Department!" before breaking in to search for victims. The smoke filling the hallway was thick and black, limiting visibility to only a few feet. Keeping his right hand along the wall and always moving in the same direction, he made his way from apartment to apartment, chalking a large X on the door of each unoccupied dwelling.

As he worked his way through the corridor, he met another firefighter. With more than a twinge of dismay, he recognized the man as Chet. Indicating the area behind him, he said, "This section is done. No one is inside." The other firefighter nodded, turning back in the direction from which he had come. The two continued checking the few remaining apartments on the third floor and were soon finished. They headed down the stairs to the second floor. The smoke was less thick here and they could see that one side of the hallway already had big chalk X's marked on the doors. As they worked, Johnny felt Chet looking his way several times. He was grateful for the mask that hid his face from his former crewmate**. **He really didn't want to see or talk to anyone from 51's. Reminders of what he had lost just two short days ago were unbearable. He didn't want their pity, couldn't stand the thought of their scorn. He believed he had not only let himself down, but had failed his friends as well.

Two more firefighters emerged from the thinning smoke. Johnny recognized Roy and Brice.

"Find anyone?" Roy asked, looking at Johnny.

"No."

"We didn't find any victims, either. I guess we were lucky this time."

Just then, a message crackled over the handi-talkie, announcing that the fire had been knocked down. A careful examination of the site revealed no more hot spots. Salvage covers were set in place and the work of pulling the ceiling down began. Most of the firefighters were involved in helping haul out the fire debris. Suddenly, an ominous creaking heralded the pending collapse of a wall. Johnny saw Roy standing next to the wall, and instead of running clear, he instinctively ran into the collapse towards his partner, yelling a warning as he ran. The last thing he saw before sheetrock folded around him was Roy being struck by a beam falling from the ceiling.

Johnny wasn't hurt, just trapped behind debris. When the noise settled, he again yelled, "Roy?"He could hear the shouts and movements of the other firefighters. "He's okay! Just a little shaken up!" a nameless voice yelled back. He heard what sounded like Roy being helped out of the building_._

"You okay in there, Gage?" a different voice yelled. He heard debris being moved away from where he was stuck_. _

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm in a pocket of drywall," he yelled back, pushing ineffectively against the debris entrapping him. While it seemed to take forever for the others to reach him, it was really only a few minutes. The first faces he saw belonged to Mark Smith and Toby Barnes.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" asked Mark again, breaking off chunks of sheet rock as he cleared an exit space.

"No." he replied, struggling to scoot out from under the debris.

"You're battin' a thousand today, skinny boy. Walker's gonna have your butt." Barnes gloated, throwing the sheet rock aside. He didn't offer Johnny a hand up.

Looking at Mark, Johnny asked, "How is Roy DeSoto? The one the beam fell on?"

"I think he's okay. Looks like he may have hurt his shoulder a little. A couple of the other guys walked him out of here."

Johnny nodded, somewhat satisfied with the report on Roy's apparent condition.


	10. Chapter 10

**Monday, November 22:**

_**Rampart**_

Dixie McCall stopped to talk with Roy before he was released. "How's my favorite paramedic doing?" she teased.

"I bet you say that to all the guys!" Roy teased back.

"Nope. Only to the ones who give me the most business."

They both immediately thought of one paramedic who not only brought in a lot of business, but also occasionally provided the business personally. "How's Johnny doing?" Dixie had not seen him at all since the previous week. She had tried to phone a couple of times, but there was no answer.

Roy sighed heavily. "Not too good. He's … He's pretty discouraged. He's talking about not taking the exam again."

Dixie digested the news a moment. "Now, that would be a real loss." Remembering that further depressing an injured patient was not really good nursing practice, she added, "Well, I'm sure it will all work out eventually." Dixie smiled her best nurse's smile and patted Roy on his good shoulder. "Now, you go home and behave!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Roy returned the smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Monday, November 22:**

_**Station 127**_

The fire had taken only about half an hour to extinguish. The cleanup, however, took several more hours and Station 127 cleared the scene shortly before one. The engines backed into the bay, one at a time. The firefighters exited the engines and headed for the showers. Captain Walker stopped one of them with his voice before they got too far.

"Gage! In my office." He indicated the location with a jerk of his thumb.

The captain did not bother with niceties before launching into his reprimand. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded rhetorically, neither pausing for breath nor expecting a reply. He continued to articulate his ire and re-instruct Johnny in the finer points of firefighting protocols and ventilation procedures.

Johnny had been studiously examining a spot just to the right of Captain Walker's nose during the dressing down. "Look at me, Gage." Johnny's eyes snapped to meet the captain's. "We all have made this kind of mistake and I know this is a tough time for you, so I won't be putting a reprimand in your file. Consider this a verbal warning that this kind of inattention simply will – not – be – tolerated!" His tone emphasized the last four words. "Understand, Gage?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Captain Walker crossed his arms and thoughtfully considered the younger man before him. Hazarding a guess as to what might really be bothering him, he said, "You couldn't have done anything to prevent it, you know."

"Yes, sir." Johnny's expression belied the words.

"Hit the showers, Gage. Dismissed."

After Johnny left the office, Captain Walker sat down to begin writing up the fire incident report. He drummed his pen on the desk, still thinking about the man who had just left. Captain Walker derived immense satisfaction from being a firefighter. He loved everything, from the first kick of adrenaline when riding to a call on the big rig, sirens screaming, to the smoky, bone-weary fatigue of a stubborn fire finally knocked down. He felt most alive when battling the dragon, safeguarding property and above all, protecting lives. He also enjoyed the nitty-gritty, hands-on of station life. The camaraderie between partners. The deeper-than-brother closeness that few other professions developed in men. He felt no desire to rise any higher into the paperwork chain of command than where he already was. He was a seasoned leader, confident in his abilities to captain men; however, he did not particularly care for the messy, personal psychology aspect of leadership. And he did not know exactly what to do about this particular firefighter.

* * *

Johnny stopped at the pay phone before heading to the showers.

"Rampart Emergency. This is Nurse McCall speaking."

"Uh, hi, Dixie. This is Johnny. Uh, has Roy been released yet?"

"Hi, Johnny!" Dixie was both pleased and surprised to hear from him. '_Down, girl._' "Oh, he left about an hour and a half ago, I think."

"Oh." The relief in Johnny's voice was evident in just the one word. "It wasn't too serious, then?"

"Just some facial abrasions and bruising to the shoulder. He has limited mobility, but should be as good as new in less than a week."

"That's good."

"So, how are you doing, Johnny?" Dixie had a well-deserved reputation for getting directly to the heart of the matter.

"Uh, fine. Fine."

'_You're not a very good liar, John Gage._' "Johnny…" Dixie began, and then hesitated, not sure how far she should go. "You know, if you need to talk, I'll buy the coffee."

"Why, Dix! Is this a date?" Johnny made an attempt at humor.

"Whatever it takes to see my favorite par...-p-patient." She mentally cringed. '_Open mouth, insert both feet_.'

"I wasn't planning to be a patient any time soon. But maybe I'll take you up on the coffee later." Nothing in his voice indicated that he'd noticed what she had narrowly avoided saying. If anything, he sounded a bit puzzled by her word choice.

"You do that, Johnny." She sincerely hoped he would take her up on the offer, but rather doubted that he would.

"Gotta go. Bye, Dix. And, thanks."

"Bye, Johnny." She sighed as she put the phone down. This whole situation just didn't sit right with her.

* * *

Toby Barnes smirked, deliberately jostling Johnny as they passed each other in the hallway which lead to the shower room.

Johnny kept walking, not even bothering to glance at the man.

"Hey! You too high and mighty to say 'excuse me' when you bump into somebody, skinny boy?"

Johnny turned around slowly and faced Barnes. "Man, what is your problem?"

"I ain't got no problem. You're the one goin' around, thinkin' you're better than everyone else 'cause you're a paramedic. 'Cept you ain't no more. Guess you're not as good as you think." Barnes expression was feral, seeing the remark hit the target.

"Where do you get all this stuff? I never said I was better than you. I don't even know you!" He was drawn into the futile argument.

"You don't have to say it, skinny boy. You just act like it."

"I do not …" He visibly checked himself, knowing from past experience that you just couldn't argue with a bully. "Okay, look. Whatever it is you think I did, I'm sorry." Johnny glanced around at the mini audience the scene had acquired. "Excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."

* * *

Toby Barnes and Mark Smith moved down the hall, talking.

"Lighten up, Barnes," scowled Mark. "If the Cap hears you, he's going to blow a gasket."

"Yeah, well let him blow. I'm going to ask for a transfer anyway. I mean, look at this place. I don't want to work with these people. They take jobs away from us. You can't trust 'em."

"What are you talking about?"

"Take a look around you! This station is filled with non-whites. They have no business being here. They should stay with their own kind, instead of coming here and taking a white man's job. It's getting so deservin' folk like me and you can't get promoted because all those bleedin' heart liberals want to hand these damned minorities everything on a silver platter!" Barnes' voice had started to rise with the last sentence as he jabbed Mark in the chest with his finger for emphasis. Then, calming a bit, he added, "Gotta go hang hose," and made his way down the hall.

Mark stared after his friend in shock. The two men had grown up together in the same small town. They had been best buddies throughout school. They hunted together; they drank together; they brawled together. It was Barnes who had wanted to pursue a career in firefighting, so they both became firefighters. Then Barnes had a hankering to see more of the world, so they applied for jobs in the L.A. area. Barnes had always been the leader, Smith the follower. But one thing Mark didn't share was Barnes' growing attitude of intolerance towards non-whites. The small town where they had grown up was predominantly white, thus limiting exposure to people different from themselves. Mark was pleasantly surprised to find that the more he worked with Roberts, Atuaia, and Esteves, the more his professional admiration for the men grew. Even his personal views were changing. He wasn't sure about Gage yet, but then he really didn't know the man. Mark knew he was going to have to make a difficult choice soon.

* * *

Johnny let the hot water run over his body, washing away the sweat and soot, easing the tension in his neck and shoulders. '_Not as good as you think._' Barnes' words crashed against each other inside his head. '_Not as good as you think._'

After showering, Johnny headed to the kitchen in search of an aspirin. Keith Roberts, who was making lunch, informed him that Captain Walker wanted him to hang hose. Keith hesitated, then added, "Watch yourself around Barnes. He's one mean mother."

"Is it just me, or does he hate everyone this much?" Johnny asked.

Keith shook his head. "Oh no, it's not just you. Barnes is an equal-opportunity sonofabitch."

"Oh, one of those. Great."

Johnny hurriedly downed two aspirin and then went out back to assist with hanging the hose. He was not thrilled to see Barnes there along with Manuel and Ioane.

They were discussing the upcoming Thanksgiving Day football games. Ioane was waxing positively poetic about the Cowboys' offensive line. Since Manuel was also a Cowboys fan, the conversation was quite animated on both sides.

Johnny was half-listening to them and half-paying attention to hanging hose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barnes lob a coil of hose in his direction. He caught it with a grunt, but lost his balance and stumbled into Ioane. "Sorry!" he gasped.

"No harm done, _braddah_," Ioane assured Johnny. He had decided that he liked, especially after the work he'd seen him do in the canyon last shift.

Barnes assumed a mock-disgusted air. "Can't you even hang hose without screwing up, skinny boy?"

"Why don't you watch how you pass the hose, eh?" Ioane glared at Barnes.

In the face of such formidable opposition, Barnes apparently decided to back off for the time being.

* * *

"Station 36; Station 95; Station 127. Working structure fire with injuries. 516 South Selwin Ave. 5-1-6 South Selwin Ave. Cross street East 214th. Time out 22:18."

* * *

In some ways the two fires the men had fought that day were similar. Both involved older, three-story apartment buildings. Both had been smoky and hot. In some ways the two fires were different in nature. One had been fought early in the morning; the second had been battled late at night. One fire had originated in the attic; the second had originated in the basement. One fire resulted in no injuries; the second fire had proven to be deadly.

Johnny carried the lifeless body of a small girl over to the triage area and gently placed her on the ground. He smoothed her hair and rested his hand on the side of her face for a moment. The death of a child had always affected him profoundly. It always would. Eyes burning, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, he wearily rose to return to the gruesome task of retrieving the bodies of victims.

Keith Roberts fell into step with Johnny as they returned to the ruined structure. Toby Barnes moved to block the way, eyes glittering with malice. "There's another one you couldn't save, skinny boy," he sneered quietly, indicating the child with a jerk of his head. His capacity for inflicting pain was seemingly boundless.

"What the hell is the matter with you!" Johnny bellowed, his voice an equal mixture of rage and anguish. He started to take a step towards the man, but something stopped him short. Although Keith had not been able to hear the words spoken by Barnes, he had grabbed onto Johnny's arm even before the words were out of Johnny's mouth.

"C'mon man. He's not worth it. He's not worth it." Keith's voice was insistent in Johnny's ear.

"You want a piece of me, Gage?" Barnes beckoned, voice taunting. Suddenly he dropped his hands and turned back towards the building. He had caught a glimpse of Captain Walker heading their way.

"C'mon man," Keith repeated. He could feel the adrenaline rush causing Johnny's body to tremble even through the thick turnout coat. "He's just not worth it. Let it go."

"I cannot believe him! We're carrying out babies and he doesn't even care! They're just babies!" Sorrow over the loss of such young, innocent lives made his voice catch.

"I know, man. Captain's coming." Keith warned, letting go of Johnny's arm.

"I don't know how he got to be a firefighter in the first place."

"Yeah, they're lettin' all kinds in these days," Keith drawled in a fair imitation of Barnes' voice.

The irony of hearing a phrase that had often been applied to people like him and Keith being directed towards someone like Barnes made Johnny smile. "Thanks, man."

"Any time."

Johnny nodded at Captain Walker as they headed back to the building. He wasn't sure how much of the scene had been witnessed.

* * *

The two engines backed into the station in the stillness of the predawn hour. Seven exhausted firefighters headed for the showers. Captain Walker stopped one of them with a hand to the shoulder. "Gage. In my office," he said quietly.

Johnny groaned inwardly, wearily following his to the office for the second time that day.

Captain Walker did not say anything for a moment as he thoughtfully the disheveled and exhausted man. He had seen the altercation between the two men, but not what had provoked it. "What's going on, Gage?"

"Uh, we had a difference of opinion. We'll work it out."

"See that you do, Gage. I don't want to see any more of that kind of display. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

The captain stayed in his office for a few more moments, pondering the dynamics between the men in his station. He was not oblivious to the underlying tensions. He had observed Barnes' tasteless joking and thinly veiled insults, and had called him on it several times in the past. What it was about Gage's arrival at the station that exacerbated Barnes' belligerence, he did not know. Perhaps Barnes subconsciously sensed the vulnerability of the other man. Whatever it was, the situation appeared to be escalating. Lips tightening into a straight line, he set off in search of Toby Barnes. The captain hesitated at the door to the dormitory. Perhaps this conversation had best wait until after a few hours of sleep.

* * *

Shortly before the shift ended, Captain Walker called Toby Barnes into his office. After listening to Barnes' version of the story, which neatly exonerated him of any guilt, the captain discussed positive ways of dealing with people one did not like and how to best manage anger. Captain Walker concluded with a warning about the parameters of acceptable behavior in his station.

"Consider yourself on notice, Barnes. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Barnes left the office seething, his ruddy complexion becoming redder. If he didn't care for Johnny before, he liked him even less now. The way Barnes saw it, Gage was the cause of what was wrong with his world. Barnes was seeking a scapegoat to cover his own shortcomings. Johnny made an excellent one.


	12. Chapter 12

**Tuesday, November 23: **

_**Johnny's Place**_

Johnny made it to the refuge of his apartment this time without running into his landlady or anyone else. Once inside the door, he wrinkled his nose in dismay. The few days of neglect were already beginning to tell in his once tidy apartment. After being closed up for twenty-four hours, the faint odor of beer emanating from the spill on the carpet that he had never cleaned up made the place smell reminiscent of a dive. Dirty clothing was wadded up and strewn here and there on various pieces of furniture and on the floor. Newspapers and mail spilled from a table near the door. The kitchen was the only clean room in the place, mostly because it hadn't been used for anything recently except Roy's visit on Saturday.

He mustered enough energy to dump the clothing into one pile, but the idea of going to the Laundromat was too much. Heading back to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator in search of something to drink. He was briefly tempted by the false siren song of the beer promising to lull him into oblivion, but memories of the recent, unpleasant experience led him to choose juice instead.

Bringing the carton back with him, he sat down on the sofa, his body sagging into the cushions. He could still detect the faint odor of smoke clinging to his skin and hair, despite the two showers at the station. Once smoke got into something, it took forever for the smell to dissipate. His mind wandered through the events of the last shift. He put his head back and closed his eyes. As he thought about the last fire, tears stung in his eyes for the dark-haired, almond-eyed child whose body he had carried over to the squad. The tears managed to squeeze past his eyelids, and soon he was weeping not for the little girl, but for himself.

The past was gone. He had no future. There was only the unremitting blackness of the present.

He lay curled up in a ball on the sofa, listening to the catch in his breath left over from the tears. Other sounds began to penetrate his awareness. The noise of car horns and squealing brakes from the traffic outside filtered into the room. He heard an apartment door slam down the hall, and people laughing. The odor of bus exhaust, mingling with that of bacon frying from someone's breakfast wafted through the air. From where he lay, he could see through the window the hazy, bluish-gray hue that more often than not colored the skies above LA. Sometimes the noise and the dirt and the people were too oppressive. He knew he had to get away for a while. Being in the mountains always renewed his spirit. He knew where he wanted to go. Wearily pushing himself off the sofa, he called headquarters and made arrangements to take a vacation day after the next shift. That would give him five days away from everything.


	13. Chapter 13

**Wednesday, November 24:**

**Roy's Place**

Johnny pulled his Land Rover into the driveway behind Roy's car. He hadn't talked to him since the accident. He had felt too emotionally exposed the previous day and was afraid Roy would be able to see right through him. He really didn't want to talk with him today, either. But he needed to see for himself that Roy had suffered no serious injury when the beam fell on him. When there was no answer to his knock at the front door, he went around to the back of the house. He found Roy dozing in the sun on the back patio.

Johnny hesitated a moment, not wanting to wake him up. Sensing that someone was near, Roy opened his eyes and smiled when he recognized who it was. "Johnny! Hey, good to see you. Have a seat."

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd come by to see how you're doing." Johnny made no move towards the proffered chair. "I can see how your face is," he said evenly, as he concentrated on keeping the conversation as normal as possible. "How's the shoulder?"

"Not too bad. It's a little stiff. The Doc says I should be able to go back to work by Sunday or Wednesday at the latest." Roy rubbed his shoulder absently.

"Helluva a way to get Thanksgiving off."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first!" Roy laughed.

"Maybe I would have if I'd been closer to the wall." A shadow passed through Johnny's eyes. "I noticed Brice came out of it without a scratch. Again."

"He must lead a charmed life. It's not your fault, you know. Stuff happens."

"I know that!"

"But you don't believe it."

Johnny shook his head and grimaced, his hand waving away the turn the conversation was taking. "So, are you going to spend the whole day watching the games?" Sports were always a neutral topic.

Roy paused uncertainly before saying, "The kids will probably want to watch the Macy's Parade in the morning. They like the floats and all the marching bands. But afterwards I'm planning on eating my turkey dinner without interruptions and sitting back to watch the Cowboys-Cards game while the rest of you guys work."

"Sitting back and sleeping is more like it. Well, I've got some other stuff to do. I've got to get going. Besides, you look like you could use some more beauty sleep."

"Thanks a lot. Say, why don't you come over on Friday? Joanne and the kids are going to be gone all day, hitting the after-Thanksgiving sales. No one will be here." He verbally flailed around. "Uh, I need someone to help us eat all the leftover turkey," he added lamely.

Johnny snorted. "Uh, no thanks." He added as an afterthought, "I'm going to be gone then."

Roy raised a worried eyebrow. "Gone?"

"I'm taking Sunday off, so I can get away for a few days." Johnny was evasive, his expression revealing nothing.

"Uh huh. So, where are you going?"

"Up to San Gabriel."

"That's beautiful country."

"Uh, yeah. It is. Well, gotta get going. I want to pack up tonight." Johnny started edging away.

"When will you be back?"

Johnny scowled, his dark eyes becoming blacker. "I'll be back late Tuesday."

Roy raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, just asking. You know it's safer to let people know where you're going."

"Yeah. Sorry. You're right. Well, catch you later. Have a nice Thanksgiving."

"Thanks. You have a safe one." Roy watched from the chaise until his partner was out of sight. With a sigh, he got to his feet.

"Was that Johnny?" Joanne asked, coming out onto the patio.

"Yeah. I don't know what to do, Joanne. I don't know how to help him." He held out his arms to his wife.

Joanne slipped into his embrace, putting her arms around him as he rested his chin atop her head. She didn't have any answers either, so she just held him, instinctively rocking slightly in the ageless way that women have when trying to comfort their loved ones.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thursday, November 25:**

_**Station 127**_

Thanksgiving Day dawned in a soft whiteness. A low-pressure system had caused a heavy fog to blanket the area.

After roll call, the men dispersed to their various assignments. Because of the holiday, four men had been assigned to KP. Usually the men ate before reporting to their shift, but Thanksgiving represented a day of feasting. Johnny and Ioane started making breakfast while Steve and Manuel began the turkey preparations.

Ioane took charge of the morning menu: spam, eggs, and rice. Johnny had never considered eating that particular combination of foods together and he remarked on it to Ioane. "We eat a lot of rice. That's from my Chinese side. We also eat a lot of spam. Sometimes fresh meat is hard to get, but you can always get spam. It's even better with breadfruit, but you can't get that here."

Although the spam smelled pretty good as it fried, the thought of eating something that so resembled dog food when it came out of the can was vaguely repulsive. Meanwhile, Johnny scrambled the eggs and started making toast as an alternative for those who did not particularly care for rice. Soon the food was cooked and the table was set. Juice, milk and coffee rounded out the meal.

Attracted by the smell of breakfast, the rest of the crew had wandered into the kitchen. The others were already accustomed to Ioane's version of breakfast and dug in hungrily. Johnny was careful not to sit within Barnes' line of sight.

Breakfast passed without incident, save a few rude remarks from Barnes about the cuisine. These were quickly quashed by the others. Johnny was chagrined at first to find that privately he was inclined to agree with Barnes' assessment of the food. However, he was surprised to find that he enjoyed the unusual combination of scrambled eggs and rice. And the spam was better than he expected as well, especially the crispy pieces that had been cooked to death.

They were just finishing cleaning up after breakfast when the tones sounded. "Battalion 7; Battalion 11; Battalion 14; Station 51; Station 86; Station 116, Station 127. Multi-vehicle collision with injuries. Northbound 405 near the 110 interchange. Time out 9:05.

The men looked at each other before racing to the engines. This was going to be very, very bad.

* * *

Station 127 arrived on the scene along with scores of city and county rescue apparatus and personnel. The scene that greeted them looked like something out of an apocalypse movie. Burned and crumpled cars and trucks were facing every which way. They were all smashed together, some stacked as high as three cars deep. It was as if a giant hand had scooped the vehicles up and then flung them down again. The beginning of the chain reaction was far ahead in the fog. Moans, screams and cries for help drifted disembodied through the mist. A heavy odor of gasoline, smoke and burnt flesh permeated the air.

The first priority was to put out any auto fires. Once those were under control, the rescue operations for the firefighters became a blur of prying apart unrecognizable pieces of metal in order to extricate victims, of comforting frightened people and those in pain, and of transporting victims over to the triage area. Paramedics moved through the wreckage, tending some victims immediately, leaving others for later. Sometime during the morning the fog began to lift, although few of the rescue workers could have identified the moment when working in fog became working in sunlight.

Firefighters, paramedics, police officers and ambulance drivers worked for more than seven hours to rescue the victims and clear the wreckage. One thing they could all be grateful for was that out of the eighty-six injuries, there were only three fatalities.

As Johnny returned to the engine, he was haunted by one particularly difficult rescue. The car had apparently flipped several times before landing with its hood straight up in the air. The driver had been trapped, hanging in the car, legs and hips pinned by the engine. It had taken a considerable amount of time to extricate the man. Johnny immediately recognized the symptoms of feeble pulse, clammy skin and too rapid breathing as those of hypovolemic shock. He knew the man would need Lactated Ringers to help restore blood volume. Judging from the feel of the lower extremities, he was also certain that the man's lower legs had been crushed. The victim was still conscious, and several times he had begged Johnny to give him something for pain. It was all he could do to keep from crying in sympathy as he offered the meager comfort of verbal assurances and applied pressure to some of the bleeding until the paramedics arrived. They seemed to have taken forever to get there.

But once the paramedics appeared on the scene, events sped up with alarming rapidity. In the course of extricating the victim prior to the arrival of the paramedics, the automobile's center of gravity had shifted. Fate decreed that moment to let the automobile slip just as Alan Cooke, a well-liked paramedic from 116's, had knelt next to the patient. Cooke suffered a concussion and several broken bones, becoming the only rescue personnel to be seriously injured during the course of the entire operation.

When Johnny reached the truck, Barnes and Mark Smith were standing along the side, watching a news team give a report on the pile-up. Barnes was grumbling about the press. "Will you look at that? We have over sixty cars piled up, almost one hundred victims, and hundreds of rescue personnel working their butts off, and all they can film is one damned, stupid paramedic who let a car fall on him!"

Loathing burned in Johnny's eyes. He was trying hard to keep his mouth shut around Barnes, but his anger with the man's callousness toward a fellow firefighter found its way out through an obscene gesture. Unfortunately, Barnes happened to turn around just as Johnny made that gesture.

"Why, you little sonofabitch!" Eyes narrowing as rage swept through him, Barnes lunged for Johnny and caught a handful of his turnout coat with his left hand, his right fist swinging. Johnny managed to lean back a bit, but Barnes' fist still made contact with the corner of his left eye, the momentum slamming the right side of his head against the engine.

Sparkles danced before his eyes as pain made a starburst in his head. One set of hands pulled him away from Barnes while another set pulled Barnes in the opposite direction.

"You're bleeding, man." Keith lowered Johnny to the ground and glanced around for something to stanch the flow of blood. Finding nothing immediately available, he held his fingers against the skin around the eye as best he could. By this time Captain Walker and the others had rounded the back of the engine to see what the commotion was. They found Mark hauling back on Barnes' arm and Johnny lying on the ground, blood running down the side of his face, with Keith doing his best to stop it.

"Get a paramedic!" Walker barked at Manuel. The firefighter took off running for the nearest squad. He soon came back with a bespectacled paramedic in tow.

"What happened?" Brice squatted down, opened the trauma box and reached in for some gauze to press against the wound.

"I'd like to know that myself," growled Captain Walker.

When no answers were immediately forthcoming, Brice directed Johnny to continue pressing the pad against the cut. He pulled out his penlight and shined it into his patient's eyes.

"Get that thing out of my eyes! Just put a butterfly on it and leave me alone!" Johnny swatted Brice's hands away and tried to get up.

Brice pushed Johnny back down by the shoulders. "Lie down, Gage! I'm the paramedic here."

'_And you're not._' The unspoken implication of the words stung more than the cut. Johnny allowed himself to be pushed back down and closed his eyes.

Although interpersonal relations were not Brice's forte, he apparently realized the unintended meaning his words carried the moment they left his mouth. "The correct protocol is to be treated by another paramedic, not to treat yourself. You're the victim this time." Brice tried to lessen the accidental insult. While many important things could indeed be learned from the manuals, bedside manner unfortunately was not one of them.

Continuing his examination, he asked, "Are you dizzy? Nauseated?" The response was negative to both questions. "You probably are going to need a couple of stitches. And a doctor needs to look at the bruise on the other side of your head." Brice finished taking the vitals. "Your blood pressure is a little high, Gage," he informed matter-of-factly.

By the time Brice had finished checking Johnny over, the bleeding had pretty much stopped. Since the ambulances were full and the squad needed to make a trip to Rampart for supplies, it was decided to transport Johnny that way.

* * *

"Well, hi there, Johnny. I thought you said you weren't planning to be a patient any time soon!" Dixie teased with a smile. Like many other off-shift nurses and doctors, she had been called in to help with the accident victims. She had barely changed back into her street clothes when she heard that Johnny was in the department as a patient.

"Well, stuff happens. Can you get me something for this headache, Dix?"

"I'm sorry, Johnny. You'll have to wait until Dr. Brackett examines you."

Johnny couldn't stop the panicked look that flew across his face. He closed his eyes.

Dixie patted Johnny's shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute," she smiled her best reassuring nurse smile, even though her patient wouldn't see it.

Just outside the door, she stopped Dr. Brackett with her hand. "Kel, I don't think he's ready to see you."

"Who's not ready to see me?"

"Johnny. He's in treatment 3."

"Oh." Dr. Brackett stroked his chin. Indicating a second-year resident who had just begun emergency rotation, he said, "We could send Dr. Malcolm in. What's Johnny got?"

"It looks like a cut next to his eye that will need a couple of stitches and a nasty bump on the side of his head."

"Okay. Let's send Malcolm in."

Johnny cast an apprehensive glance at the door to the treatment room when it opened. His face registered surprise as he saw Dixie returning with a doctor he didn't know.

"Johnny, this is Dr. Malcolm," Dixie said by way of introduction.

Dr. Malcolm nodded his hello and asked the nurse for the vital signs.

"Pulse 95, respirations 20, BP 150 over 115."

"Hmm." The doctor began with the usual head trauma questions about pain, loss of consciousness, nausea, blurred vision, and dizziness. Satisfied with both the answers and the results of his examination, he said, "I think we'll just need to put a couple of stitches in." And then to the nurse, "Get a fresh set of vitals and set up a suture tray." Catching "the look" from Dixie, he belatedly added, "Please."

"Pulse 68, respirations 16, BP 110 over 70."

Pausing in arranging the instruments to suit his suturing style, Dr. Malcolm looked at Johnny and said, "Well that's better. Something really had you going, didn't it?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes again tiredly. Exhaustion had set in, now that the adrenaline rush was over.

Dixie moved to the head of the gurney. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time on a date," she teased. "It looks like you're in good hands, Johnny. I've got to get home." She gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

"Okay. Have a nice Thanksgiving. And thanks, Dix. For everything." He was too tired to open his eyes.

"You, too. What's left of it. Take care!" she chuckled as she left the room.

Soon Johnny was bandaged up, dosed with Tylenol plus codeine, and given the standard instructions about complications. After another thirty minutes of observation, he was released.

* * *

By the time Johnny returned from Rampart, Captain Walker had already interviewed Toby Barnes, Mark Smith, and Keith Roberts regarding the incident. Barnes claimed that Johnny had provoked it. Smith hadn't heard Johnny say anything. Roberts hadn't seen anything until after it happened.

Captain Walker called Johnny into his office as soon as he saw him. "Are you able to finish the shift?"

"Yes, sir. I just have a headache."

"I've already spoken with the others. I need to hear your side of the story, Gage."

"Umm," Johnny flushed a little in embarrassment. "I, uh, came around the corner of the engine and overheard something Barnes was saying to Smith. It made me mad, so I flipped him the bird behind his back, but he turned around and saw me." Seeing the peculiar expression on the captain's face, he added, "I know it was pretty juvenile. Sir."

After hearing this version of the story, Captain Walker sat in stunned silence for a moment. This account more closely matched those of Smith and Roberts. To the captain, Barnes' reaction was way out of proportion to Johnny's action. "And did you also say something like 'your mother wears combat boots?'"

A bemused expression on his face, he simply answered, "No, sir. I didn't talk to him."

"Dismissed, Gage."

"Thank you, sir."

Captain Walker pondered the situation. Based on all accounts save one, Barnes' behavior was unreasonable. Furthermore, Barnes was always trying to shift responsibility for events onto someone else, while Gage appeared willing to accept responsibility for his own actions, however stupid, without blaming or disparaging another. Smith had told him about the remark Barnes made regarding the paramedic who had been injured. While Johnny's response was perhaps a tad childish, it was insignificant in comparison with the outright viciousness of Barnes' remark and subsequent behavior. While Toby Barnes was an able firefighter, Captain Walker believed he now had no recourse other than to suspend the man and recommend a psychological evaluation before he would be permitted to return to work.

* * *

Johnny was coming back down the hall from the latrine as Barnes exited the locker room, duffel bag in hand.

Barnes' eyes narrowed upon seeing the man he imagined responsible for his misfortune. He thrust his finger towards Johnny and silently mouthed, "You're mine, Gage!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Friday, November 26: **

In a hurry to leave the city behind, Johnny bounded up the stairs to his apartment, dropped his gear just inside the door, snatched up the waiting back pack, dashed down the stairs, tossed the pack into the back of the Land Rover, and headed north in less than three minutes. Traffic was fairly congested, due to the early after-Thanksgiving Day sales. Once he got off the city streets and onto the freeways, the pace picked up a bit. The weather promised to be sunny, a treat after the chilly fog of the previous morning.

* * *

_**Rampart**_

Dixie looked up as Dr. Brackett approached the nurse's station. "Hi Kel. How was the rest of your turkey day?" she greeted.

"Fine, fine. And yours?"

"Like the bird, I'm over-stuffed." She waited for him to finish signing off the paperwork before speaking again. "It's such a shame about John Gage. He's one of the best paramedics we've got. I still can't believe he didn't pass the exam."

Dr. Brackett put down the pen and rubbed the back of his neck. He and Dixie had been having this conversation for the past week. "You know I have a hard time believing it myself. I checked the printout three times to be sure. He only missed by a couple of points."

"Well, it's too bad!" she declared, eyes flashing, almost daring Dr. Brackett to contradict her.

"Dix, you know we've been through this already. We have to maintain standards. Everyone has to re-certify continually. You do. I do. And especially the paramedics do. It's still a new program and you know there are those who want it to fail. Those who feel threatened by what they see as essentially untrained personnel in the field usurping the doctor's rightful place." Dr. Brackett poured himself a cup of coffee. "He'll be eligible to retake the exam in six months."

"If he wants to. Based on what I hear from Roy, Johnny's taking it pretty hard. It doesn't sound like he's going to try again. Maybe you should check the exam one more time." She shuffled papers around on the desk while watching the doctor out of the corner of her eye.

"Dix, I told you I've checked it several times! Checking the exams of those who failed was the first thing I did!" Annoyance and a little anger tinged his voice. "I said before that I didn't like what the exam might do to the paramedics' self-confidence. But maybe if they can't handle the pressure, they shouldn't be paramedics after all. Would you quit if you failed to re-certify in emergency medicine, Dix?" Dr. Brackett questioned the nurse over the rim of his coffee cup.

"No, I suppose not. I have other nursing skills to fall back on. Just like Johnny can fall back on firefighting. But it just doesn't seem right to me somehow. Maybe he was just having an off day, or test anxiety. He's a good paramedic. One of the best. You said so yourself. Just like I'm one of the best emergency medicine nurses you know." Dixie tapped Dr. Brackett on the chest with her finger to emphasize her last point. A hint of a smile played around her lips.

Dr. Brackett saluted Dixie with his coffee cup. "That you are, Dixie. That you are."

The insistent buzzing of an incoming call precluded further discussion.


	16. Chapter 16

**Friday, November 26: **

_**San Gabriel Wilderness Area**_

Johnny parked the car and retrieved the backpack. It wasn't very heavy; he didn't need much in the way of supplies for what he was planning to do. As he hiked farther into the Wilderness Area, he began to calm down in his surrounds. Sunlight dappled the ground as it found its way through the tree branches. The sky was bluer here, away from the smog. The crisp air smelled of pine and spruce. The wind soughed through the treetops. Birds called greetings to each other on both sides of the trail. Every once in a while a small animal would rustle through the fallen leaves. The rays of the sun warmed him even as the breeze chilled him. As he hiked, he recalled the words spoken by some of the elders:

"Everybody got to find the right path. You can't see it, so it's hard to find. No one can show you. Each person's got to find the path by himself."1

"When we want wisdom, we go up on the hill …. Four days and four nights, without food and water."2

He finally found a secluded spot atop a plateau overlooking the valley below. From the backpack he removed a ground cloth and bedroll, which he spread out under the trees. Removing his shoes, he settled himself cross-legged upon the blanket. With a softly muttered prayer of thanks, he composed himself to think and ponder in the stillness. He had lost his path. He had four days to seek wisdom.


	17. Chapter 17

**Friday, November 26: **

_**Dr. Brackett's Office**_

It had been a long and busy day in the emergency department. The day after Thanksgiving tended to be like that, what with the consumption of improperly stored left-overs, shopping frenzy induced illness and post-holiday family fighting after too much contact with people you usually only saw a couple of times a year. Dr. Brackett wearily rubbed his eyes. He was more bothered about the situation with Johnny than he cared to admit. Something Dixie said that morning continued to niggle at him. He heard her loud and clear about looking over the exam one more time and he trusted her instincts. While he had indeed checked the printout at least three times, he had not gone past the summary page that said how many answers the test-takers had gotten wrong or right. He had never re-read the actual exams themselves. He fished Johnny's exam out of the pile.

As he carefully read through the many pages, he was sorry to see that some answers were indeed incorrect. When he came to the signature form on the last page, he noted with surprise that it did not say 'John Gage.' Dr. Brackett flipped back to the computer-generated cover sheet with the test scores; the name "Gage, John R." was printed on the front. He puzzled over that for a moment and then took a closer look at the ID number written on each page. The ID number on the pages did not match the one printed under Gage's name on the cover sheet. Recognizing that if there had been one mis-match here on Johnny's exam, there certainly had to be a twin somewhere else and he quickly dug into the pile of exams, comparing the cover sheet with the ID numbers and signature page for each one. Sure enough, he found another set that didn't match. The ID numbers on the two exams were nearly identical; except the middle two digits were transposed. Somehow the two numbers and cover sheets had inadvertently been reversed.

Dr. Brackett stared in irritation at the two exams on the desk before him. How could such a mistake have gone unnoticed? He picked up the phone and dialed Dixie's number at home. She picked up after a few rings. "Well, Dixie, you were right. Johnny didn't fail the paramedic's exam. His exam got mixed-up with Craig Brice's. Brice is the one who failed the exam."

After a pause Dixie said, "While I'm glad to hear that Johnny passed, I am sorry to hear that Craig Brice did not. Kel, how could such a thing have happened?"

"I don't know, Dix. Data entry or collation error is my guess. Maybe the files were dropped on the floor or something. I'll contact the Board and the Fire Department Headquarters tomorrow to get Johnny reinstated and let them know about Brice."

"Tomorrow is Saturday," Dixie pointed out.

"Well then, I guess it will have to wait until Monday. But I'd like to call Johnny myself and give him the news now. Do we have his number somewhere?"

"I have his number. Just a minute; I'll get it for you." She was away from the phone for less than a minute. "Here it is: 555-4231. Are you going to recheck all the other exams?"

"Yes. I'm doing that right now. But I thought you'd want to know about Johnny."

"Yes, I did. Thanks for calling, Kel. I'll let you get back to checking those exams."

"Okay. Goodnight, Dix. I'll talk to you later." Dr. Brackett hung up the phone with a sigh. His long day had just gotten longer.

The day after Thanksgiving tended to be like that, what with the over-eating, shopping frenzies and post-holiday family fighting after too much contact with people you only saw a couple of times a year.


	18. Chapter 18

**Tuesday, November 30: **

**Dr. Brackett's Office**

Craig Brice stood outside the door to Dr. Brackett's office and knocked.

Dr. Brackett opened the door. "Brice! Come on in. What can I do for you?" He was a little surprised to see Brice so early in the day, but the visit wasn't totally unexpected. This particular paramedic had a reputation for being very meticulous and thorough.

"I'd like to talk with you about my exam if I may." Brice stood stiffly, his face impassive.

"Sure. Sure. Have a seat." Brackett smiled and motioned to the chair in front of his desk as he made his way to his own.

"May I see the questions that I missed?"

Dr. Brackett thought a moment. "I don't see why not." He crossed to the cabinet where the exams had been filed. After retrieving Brice's exam, he handed it to him and watched for a moment as Brice studied the document. "Do you mind if I keep working while you read that?"

Brice shook his head no without looking up. His teeth worried his bottom lip as he read. After some time, he put the exam paper in his lap and cleared his throat. Dr. Brackett looked up at the sound, eyebrows raised in an unasked question.

"I'd like to discuss some of these with you if I may."

Dr. Brackett put his pen down and sat back in his chair. "Okay. Go ahead."

Brice scooted his chair closer to the desk and laid the exam down between them. "I interpreted question number 47 to mean…" He launched into a technical explanation of the question and the reasoning behind his answer.

Nodding his head, a thoughtful expression on his face, Dr. Brackett slowly said, "Yes. Yes, I can see how it might be interpreted that way. Go on."

Brice reviewed a few more questions and concluded, "So you can see that these are not really in error due to the ambiguity of the questions."

"Hmmm." Dr. Brackett rubbed his chin. "You know I can't make a judgment call like this on my own. But you have raised some very valid points. I'd like you to present this to the testing board. One of the other doctors is out of town until the second week of December. I'll set up a meeting for when he gets back and give you a call when we're ready."

Brice nodded. The light reflecting off his glasses made his eyes unreadable. The two men rose from their chairs and Dr. Brackett escorted the paramedic to the door.


	19. Chapter 19

**Tuesday, November 30: **

**San Gabriel Wilderness Area**

From the position of the sun in the sky, Johnny knew that noon was long past. It was time to return home.

Four sunsets and four sunrises had passed. Four times he had tracked the sun as it traveled east to west. Four times he had watched the moon trace the sun's path at night. Four days and four nights he had sought wisdom. He had shivered with cold. His stomach had pinched with hunger. His throat longed for the cool wetness of water. He was tired. And confused. In the depths of his soul, he believed his path to be that of the healer. But he still did not see how that was going to be possible.

* * *

**Johnny's Place**

Johnny was surprised to see several pieces of paper taped to the door of his apartment. He pulled them off, threw them on the kitchen table and headed straight for the refrigerator. It was nearly as empty as his stomach. '_Dang! Thought I had some fruit in there._ _Guess I'll have to go out and get some._' While he had drunk quite a lot of water after leaving the mountain, he had waited to get home before eating. Fast food was tempting, but he knew that it was safer to break an extended fast with fruit, juice or lightly cooked vegetables. He hadn't brought any along because he thought it wouldn't keep.

* * *

**Roy's Place**

"You're going to wear a hole in the carpet if you don't stop that pacing, sweetheart." Joanne watched her husband complete a circuit of the family room for what must have been the thousandth time. She patted the space on the sofa next to her invitingly.

Roy sighed in exasperation and plopped down next to his wife, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Where can he be? He said he'd be back this evening. Maybe I should drive over there?" He looked worriedly at Joanne. "Do you think he's gotten hurt somewhere? You know how he's just a magnet for trouble."

"I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you. Although I will grant you that he certainly has more than his fair share of bizarre problems. This whole thing with the exam is a case in point."

Just then the phone rang. Roy fairly bounded from the sofa to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Hi Roy. What's with all these notes on my door?"

"Johnny! Where were you? Did you just get back? Guess what happened! It's great news! You'll never believe this!" The usually unflappable Roy was talking so fast that for once Johnny was the one who was not able to get a word in edgewise.

When Roy finally paused for breath, Johnny leapt in, "Well, what is it?"

"Grab a beer, junior! You passed the exam!"

"What?"

"You passed the exam! Your exam got mixed up with Brice's. He didn't pass. You did." Roy's grin could be heard through the phone wires.

"What?" Johnny's ears were hearing but his brain wasn't getting the message.

"Remember those numbers we had to write on the top of each page? You and Brice had almost the same number. Somehow they got mixed up. You passed, Johnny!"

"Brice didn't pass?" His mind was fixating on the wrong details.

"Johnny! Are you listening to me? You passed the exam!" Concern about the lack of coherency on Johnny's part began to creep into his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I passed the exam? **I **passed the exam? I passed the exam!" Johnny finally got it.

"Welcome back, partner. You better call Cap. I think you're already scheduled for us tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll do that. I don't believe it. I just don't believe it." He had been so convinced that he had failed the exam, that the idea he had actually passed was now hard to credit.

"Believe it, Junior. Believe it!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Wednesday, December 1: **

_**Station 51**_

Johnny walked into the locker room with a paper sack. Chet and Marco were already there, changing into their uniforms.

"Well, Gage, welcome back." Chet nonchalantly looked up from tying his shoelace.

"Good to see you here, Johnny," added Marco, with a bit more enthusiasm.

"Thanks. It's good to be back." Johnny's response as he restored his belongings to his locker was not quite as exuberant as might be expected for someone who had just been vindicated.

"What happened to your face?" Chet noticed the fresh scar over Johnny's left eye and the fading bruise on the right side of his forehead.

"Ran into something," came the terse reply.

Chet tapped his chin thoughtfully as he covertly watched Johnny. Marco observed them both and kept his mouth shut. The three men quickly finished dressing and assembled for roll call with the others.

Cap read off the assignments. "DeSoto, kitchen. Gage, dorm. Kelly and Lopez, engine bay. Stoker, latrine. After the housekeeping is finished, we have some apartment inspections scheduled for today. Okay, that's it." Looking at Johnny, he smiled, "John, good to have you back."

The men broke rank, grinning.

"Yeah, Roy couldn't survive another shift with Brice. I think that's why he let the beam fall on him." Marco said.

"We couldn't survive another shift with Brice!" came the surprising comment from the usually quiet Mike Stoker.

Chet started laughing. "I can't believe your exam was switched with Brice's. Of all people! Now that's what I call poetic justice."

"Well, I don't think it's justice at all. He's not a bad paramedic. It's stupid that all those years of experience don't count for squat. Nobody deserves that. Nobody. Not even Brice."

Into the awkward silence following this remark, Cap said, "We've got a lot to do today. Let's go get some coffee and then get started. "

The engine crew headed towards the kitchen. Roy and Johnny stayed behind for a few moments to do the daily equipment check with Rampart. Roy kept his eye on Johnny, but didn't say anything.

As they came into the kitchen, Chet was placing the last of six steaming mugs on the table. Johnny glanced suspiciously at Chet and sniffed the contents of the cup he picked up. It seemed to smell okay. Relaxing when he saw all the others enjoying their coffee, he took a big gulp and immediately spit the foul brew back into the cup.

"Chet!" Johnny sputtered. "What the hell is in my coffee!"

"That's payback for sticking us with Brice." Chet quietly toasted Johnny with his cup.

The rest of the crew burst out laughing as Johnny rushed to the sink to rinse out his mouth.

Instead of shrugging off the practical joke like he usually did, Johnny was angry. "Not funny, Chet!" he exclaimed and stalked out of the room.

The laughter died as the five men exchanged puzzled looks.

Cap's expression was mildly concerned as he watched Johnny go. "Uh, Kelly? Better lay off him for a while."

"Aw Cap, I was just having a little fun. Trying to get things back to normal."

"Two words, Kelly. Lay off." Cap warned as he left the room.

* * *

Cap had checked several places before locating Johnny in the dorm, pulling sheets off the beds. He watched for a few minutes before asking, "So. What was that all about?"

Dropping the sheets on the floor, he turned to meet his captain's eyes and shrugged. "I guess I just didn't think it was funny."

"Uh-huh." He watched Johnny begin to make the beds. To Cap, nothing in the movements appeared to indicate that the paramedic was suffering unduly from stress, although his behavior was uncharacteristically serious. "You want to talk about anything, John?"

Johnny straightened from his task, absently twisting a pillowcase in his hands as he pondered the question. "Uh, no. Not really."

"Do you consider yourself fit for duty?" Cap was blunt. Given the circumstances, Johnny's unusual behavior had him slightly worried. He needed to know the answer to this question.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, then." Cap said with a nod, figuring that Johnny just needed a little time to readjust. He left to go to his office to tackle the amazing, self-perpetuating stack of paperwork on his desk.

* * *

The day had turned out to be an unusually slow one. They had gotten through the apartment inspections without interruption. The afternoon runs included a dumpster fire for the engine and a few easy runs for the squad, which did not necessitate trips to Rampart.

Johnny remained quieter than usual, and even Roy had tired of trying to make small talk which was rewarded with three- and four-word responses. To Johnny, everything seemed different. Unfamiliar. The comfortable had become uncomfortable. He felt like a stranger. Like maybe he didn't belong there.

Out on runs, he found himself hanging back slightly, waiting for Roy to take the lead. Like a rookie. Almost afraid to be a paramedic.

* * *

Everyone was gathered in the break room, watching TV or reading the paper when the tones sounded.

"Station 51. Traffic accident with injuries. Intersection of Albreda and Martin. Albreda and Martin. Time out 16:26."

The squad and the engine arrived on the scene to find two vehicles trying to occupy the same physical space. The second car was up on the trunk of the car in front of it. All the victims were out of their vehicles already. An extremely overweight, middle-aged man sat propped up against a light post, holding his abdomen. He was complaining loudly to a police officer. A distraught young man held a bloody handkerchief to the forehead of a young woman lying on the ground.

"These young punks were speeding and tailgating! You ought to arrest them! For criminal negligence! For criminal stupidity! You shouldn't be giving out licenses to such irresponsible youth! Look at my car! Who's going to pay for it? I bet they don't even have insurance. Look at their car! It's a piece of junk. I bet they can't even pass the emissions test!" He went on and on.

As they pulled the equipment out of the squad, Roy said with a smile, "You get the complainer. I get the pretty one."

"It's not my turn!" Johnny protested.

"Consider it a welcome back present," Roy said with a grin.

"Thanks loads."

Johnny crouched down next to the obese man, making a quick visual assessment. The man had to weigh at least 400 pounds. "Hi. My name is John Gage. Can you tell me where you hurt?" He reached out to begin taking the man's pulse. He had to press fairly hard to feel a vein on the man's beefy wrist.

"Ow! Why are you pressing so hard? My ribs and my stomach hurt. Look at what they did to my car! It's a crime…" The man continued his ranting non-stop despite a slight wheeze.

"I'm just trying to take your pulse, sir. … Uh huh. … Uh huh … Can I get you to lie down here so I can look at your abdomen?" Johnny tried to respond to the man's questions and comments while doing his job.

"No! I have trouble breathing when I lie flat. I'd rather sit."

"Okay, sir. When did you start having difficulty breathing? I'm just going to listen to your chest, now." He listened to the chest tones. They sounded a little wheezy, but good. He couldn't get the man's BP because the cuff wasn't big enough, so he tried to get a BP by palpation.

"I'm always short of breath. Will you look at that!" His attention was directed to his car. "Hey! Stop that! What do you think you're doing?" He yelled at the firefighters who were attempting to get the two cars apart so they could be removed from the intersection. "If you put any more scratches on my car, I'll be billing you for repairs!"

'_Don't sound short of breath to me._' Johnny thought sourly as the man continued haranguing. When the man gesticulated towards the rescue personnel trying to extract the vehicles, Johnny noticed that he was wearing a medical ID bracelet.

"Sir, what is the medical ID bracelet you're wearing for?"

"I'm diabetic." The man's eyes narrowed as he really looked Johnny up and down for the first time. "You look pretty young. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Cap had come over to try to convince the man that no more harm was being done to his car. He overheard the remark and said, "Sir, I can assure you, he's highly qualified. We need to move your car out of the intersection, sir. It's blocking traffic. And if someone else hits it, there will be even more damage."

"Just see that you people don't cause any more damage. Look at my car!" He was off on his tirade again.

"Okay, sir, I'm going to unbutton your shirt so I can get a better look at your injuries." Keeping belligerent patients informed of what was happening to them often helped calm them down. It wasn't working with this one. The pattern of bruising on the man's abdomen was consistent with hitting the steering wheel, although Johnny seriously wondered how the man had even fit behind the steering wheel in the first place. He gently palpated the area.

"Ow! Stop that! Why are you doing that?" The man's voice was strident.

"I'm checking for abdominal tenderness." The area did not feel rigid.

"Well, it hurts, you fool! I was in a car accident! I don't think you know what you're doing! Nobody here knows what they're doing. Hey!" He was momentarily distracted by the scraping sound of the two vehicles being pulled apart.

"What are the vitals, Johnny?" Roy brought the bio-phone over.

"I have a morbidly obese male, approximately 40 years of age. Pulse is 100. BP is 160 palp. Respirations are 24. He is complaining of shortness of breath. He has bruising over his abdomen and is complaining of tenderness in the area. There is no apparent rigidity at this time. He is diabetic."

Roy relayed the information to Rampart and received instructions. "That's two litres of oxygen and one litre of normal saline TKO. 10-4, Rampart." Roy repeated the orders to confirm them and hung up the bio-phone. "You got that?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yeah. I got it." Johnny started to prepare the IV setup.

"Ambulance is here. Johnny, you've got D5W in your hand," Roy pointed out before turning back towards the young woman with the head injury to finish preparing her for transport.

Johnny looked at the bag like he'd never seen one before. Diabetics didn't get D5W because of the sugar content. "Oh. Yeah. Right." He reached for the correct solution and began preparing it.

Johnny tied a piece of rubber hose around the man's arm and swabbed the area just below the elbow with alcohol. "Okay. Now, I'm going to start the IV the doctor ordered. You'll feel a little pinch. It's going to hurt just a bit." He couldn't make the first stick hit the vein. '_Dammit_. _This guy's veins are hard to find.'_' 'I'm sorry, sir," he apologized.

"Ow! Are you trying to kill me? You're not doing it right!" Now that the cars had been moved, the man turned his full of his savage attention on Johnny.

Undoing the tourniquet, he massaged the arm to try to get the blood pooled farther down below the elbow, then he reapplied the tourniquet. "Okay, I'm going to try this again." He thought he had adequately palpated the vein, but the second stick also missed.

"Ow! Stop poking me! I don't think you know what the hell you're doing! I want a real doctor! Get your hands off me!" The middle-aged man jerked his arm out of Johnny's grasp, then shoved him away.

"Okay, sir, calm down. I won't touch you again. Calm down! You need to sit back. I'll get my partner," The paramedic attempted to reassure the irate man. "Roy!" he called over his shoulder.

Roy, who had been assisting the EMT's in transferring the woman into the ambulance, had missed the exchange. He hurried over when he heard his name called. "What have you got?" He looked questioningly at Johnny.

"Uh, I'm having a hard time getting the IV started."

Roy's glance flicked uncertainly between Johnny, the victim and back again, knowing how nearly impossible it was to start an IV on massively obese victims. "Do you want me to give it a try?"

"Be my guest."

Squatting down next to the patient, Roy tried to explain the procedure to the man as he prepared the other arm for the IV.

"I hope you can do better than that other fellow. He doesn't know what he's doing!" huffed the man.

Johnny watched impassively as Roy was able to successfully start the IV.

"Okay, sir, just relax. We'll get you to Rampart real soon," he said to the man, taping the IV in place. The two paramedics finished preparing the man for transport. He continued his vituperative complaining the whole time, casting aspersions upon the fire department and the police department. He was especially eloquent about incompetent paramedics.

Roy pursed his lips. He really didn't want to be cooped up in the ambulance with this person, but he figured Johnny had already had more than his fair share of the man's yammering. It was a no-win situation. "I'll ride in on this one. You bring the squad, okay?"

Johnny nodded, his expression unreadable. He handed Roy the drug box and then closed the doors to the ambulance. He rapped twice on the doors, a bit harder than was probably necessary.

He surveyed the debris left over from the emergency treatment. As he began packing up, Chet and Marco came over to help clean up the area. They had witnessed the last part of the scene, but wisely refrained from saying anything.


	21. Chapter 21

**Wednesday, December 1: **

**Rampart**

Roy exited the treatment room and headed towards the supply station. He was a bit surprised not to find Johnny there. He looked around for a moment before heading out to the squad. He opened the door and found Johnny sitting inside.

"Did you get the supplies?"

"No."

"Well, you want to get them now?" Roy asked with some irritation. To say that the encounter with that last victim had been unpleasant was a vast understatement. He was feeling rather unsettled himself.

"No."

Roy flushed at this unreasonable response. "Fine, I'll do it!" He shut the door a bit harder than he intended.

He was tossing things into the boxes and muttering to himself at the supply station when Dixie came up. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Not exactly 'Prince Charming' you brought in." Looking around expectantly, she asked, "Where's Johnny?"

"Uh, he's out in the squad."

"Oh." She paused, head tilted to one side. "Didn't see you fellas all day today. Was this your first run?"

"No. But the other runs were really minor stuff. A scraped knee; Fluffy was up a tree; a lady had her hair stuck in a mixer; a girl caught her braces in the carpet. Kind of weird stuff, actually." Roy smiled.

Dixie smiled and nodded her head. "This was your first real run, then. Kind of difficult, don't you think?"

"Oh. Yeah." Understanding dawned for Roy. "Yeah. I'll see you later, Dix."

"Say 'hi' to Johnny for me. And tell him I'm still waiting for our date!"

Roy squinted his eyes, his expression bemused at this last remark. "Okaaay…."

* * *

After putting the drug box and the trauma kit away, Roy climbed into the drivers' seat of the squad and took a more cheerful tack. "Helluva run, eh?" He glanced over at Johnny to check his response. Nothing. Roy sighed. "He was just a difficult patient. Don't take it personally."

"I did read the friggin' paramedic manual, Roy!" Johnny lashed out angrily. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling of the cab, annoyed with himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's not you. It's me. I can't do this." He waved his hand around, vaguely indicating the squad and Rampart. "I couldn't even start the IV, Roy!"

"It was a lucky stick! You know how hard it is to start IV's on obese patients. Hell, even on good veins we're doing well to hit 95%."

"Yeah, and what about the IV solution? The guy was right. I'm incompetent."

"Oh, come on! You would have noticed it before you hooked it up. It was minor. You shouldn't feel that way!" Even as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. "Sorry. I guess I should read the friggin' manual," he added quietly.

Johnny laughed once mirthlessly in response to that.

Roy tried again. "It's not a career-ending mistake, Johnny. Don't let it get to you. Move on."

"And what about next time?" Johnny seemed in the mood to wallow.

Roy didn't know what else to say. He started the squad.

Johnny picked up the microphone. "Squad 51, available."


	22. Chapter 22

**Wednesday, December 1**

**Station 51**

Cap noticed that both paramedics were upset when they returned from the run. At first, he chalked it up to the after-effects of dealing with a particularly abusive and obnoxious victim. He was used to Roy's broodings and usually did not worry about them over much. But Johnny generally never shut up. In fact, he usually was quite vocal after an irritating run like that. If he was brooding, it meant something bad was brewing.

Just before it was time for the men to turn in for the night, he sought out Roy. "Can I see you in my office for a minute?" he quietly asked. Once inside, he examined Roy with a searching expression. "What's up?"

"Uh, bad run."

Cap considered this for a moment. "Is John okay?"

Roy shrugged ever so minutely before answering. "I think so."

Cap was an astute observer. "Are you covering for him?" While he didn't enjoy sounding like an inquisitor, it was his job to ensure that his men were fit for duty.

Roy's response was a little slower this time."No, I wouldn't say that," came the subtle misrepresentation of the truth.

Cap considered Roy in silence for a moment longer. Before he could speak, Roy began talking. "I'm a little worried about him. He looks kind of thin and tired to me. He's … I don't know. He's not himself. It's like he's here, but he's not here. He can do his job and all, but I'm worried about him."

Cap digested the information. When no more was apparently forthcoming, he asked, "Would you go find John and ask him to come here?"

A few minutes later Johnny entered the office. Cap looked up from the papers he was idly shuffling around on the desk. "Shut the door, John." He waited until Johnny had done so and taken a seat. His gaze swept over the paramedic, noting the apparent tension in his posture. "What's up?"

"Uh, nothing. Bad run."

Smiling faintly at the almost identical reply to the question, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Johnny hesitated fractionally before answering. "I want to finish the shift. I can finish the shift."

His eyes assessed the young paramedic intently. "Get some sleep, Gage. You look like hell."

Johnny's eyebrow's rose in surprise at the unexpected remark. "Uh, okay. Cap."

Cap nodded once. "Dismissed." While he hoped that Johnny would snap out of whatever was bothering him and would give him every chance to do so, being able to perform his duties was of paramount importance. Safety, both for the public and for the crew, had to come first. He would continue to monitor the paramedic's performance.

* * *

Johnny had tried really hard to obey his captain's order about getting some sleep. Worried that his tossing and turning would disturb the others, he took his turnout gear to the break room midway through the night. The scene with the difficult victim kept re-running in his head. He alternated between being disgusted with himself over not being able to start the IV and horrified about the potentially deadly mistake he had almost made with the IV solution. While his heart knew that he had done the best he could, his head shrilled loudly that he was a failure. Maybe they shouldn't have given his license back after all. The series of events since he had lost his license had eroded his confidence in himself as effectively as the winter rains had eroded the shoreline along the Pacific Coast Highway.


	23. Chapter 23

**Saturday, December 4:**

**Station 51**

The two days off had evidently not done anything to improve upon the way Paramedic Gage looked. If anything, his appearance had deteriorated. His uniform hung a bit loosely off the now too thin frame. A sooty darkness smudged the skin under his eyes. The cheerful smile had disappeared along with the lively sparkle in his eyes, to be replaced with a grim set to the lips and an almost haunted look. His sense of humor had evaporated like fog once the sun has risen. And while his crewmates may have occasionally wished for a respite from the usual, daily Johnny-logue, his silence was even more unnerving.

By midmorning, Cap was considering calling the paramedic into his office yet again when the tones sounded. "Squad 51. Woman down. 415 E. Del Amo Blvd. 4-1-5 Del Amo. Cross street Central Ave. Time out 10:36."

* * *

The squad pulled up in front of a little mom and pop grocery store. Officer Vince Howard was standing outside.

"What's up, Vince?" Roy asked, getting out of the squad.

"There's a woman inside, passed out on the floor. Seems she drank one of those pina coladas in the can while shopping and collapsed."

When Roy came around the squad he was a bit surprised to find that Johnny had half of the equipment out of the squad compartment bays and was just standing there instead of already heading into the store. "Let's go," he said, grabbing the rest of what might be needed.

Roy headed into the store, with Johnny following half a step behind. They found an unconscious woman lying in the aisle next to the refrigerator cases. Both he and Johnny reached for the biophone at the same time. Johnny pulled his hand back and started taking the woman's vitals instead.

As they worked over the women, their hands collided several times. They just couldn't find their normal rhythm. Roy had just finished starting the IV when the ambulance arrived. Assisted by the attendants, they quickly finished preparing the woman for transport.

"I'll ride in. You okay with the squad?"

"Yeah." Johnny began gathering the equipment and the debris without looking up.

Roy shook his head minutely and followed the gurney to the ambulance.

"Is she going to be all right?" Vince stopped Roy as he was climbing into the back of the ambulance.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Is she going to the hospital? I've got to arrest her for shoplifting."

"What?"

"You're supposed to pay before eating, and the owner wants to press charges."

* * *

The squad returned to the station just as the rest of the crew was sitting down to eat lunch. The others heard two doors slam and the sound of voices raised in an argument.

"… had them!"

"…right there! Why didn't you …"

Then one door slammed again. Roy stuck his head in the doorway to the kitchen. "Cap? Uh, we've got to go back to Rampart for supplies.

"I thought you just did that."

"We, uh, forgot something."

"Okay," replied Cap. He made a mental note to speak with both Johnny and Roy when they returned. He never got the chance, however. Both the squad and the engine spent the afternoon on alternating runs. The two units were finally together for less than five minutes in the late afternoon when the tones sounded once again.

"Station 36; Station 51. Structure fire. 811 Grace Ave. 8-1-1 Grace Ave. Cross street East 223rd. Time out 17:46."

* * *

The engine and the squad pulled up to the two-story building. The bottom floor hosted a dry cleaners while living quarters were above. Gouts of fire spurted out through the now shattered big glass windows on the front and sides of the store and smoke poured from the smaller apartment windows above.

A flash of yellow on the second floor caught Johnny's eye as he shrugged into his turnout gear of rubber boots, canvas pants and coat. A small girl leaned out of the window, waving her arms, her tiny voice drowned out by the noise.

Johnny took off at a run, without his SCBA, and disappeared up the external stairwell.

"Gage!" Cap bellowed, a second too late, as he caught a glimpse of the paramedic dashing into the building. "Lopez! DeSoto! Go after him!"

The two men quickly obeyed, after donning the appropriate gear.

A few long minutes later Johnny and Marco appeared, each carrying a coughing and crying child. Roy carried an unconscious woman draped over his shoulder. The others helped them bring the victims over to the squad.

"Anybody else up there?" Captain Stanley asked, watching the flames begin to engulf the second floor.

Johnny shook his head, but he couldn't answer because he was doubled over, hands on knees, coughing. Marco answered, saying, "No. There was only the one apartment."

By this time the engine and squad of Station 36 had rolled onto the scene. Cap called in a request for an ambulance.

Roy had his hands full trying to get oxygen on the crying children and tending to the woman. "We need more oxygen," he yelled over to the paramedics from 36s. Johnny came over, still coughing, to help with the victims. "Sit down and put this on!" Roy thrust an oxygen mask in Johnny's direction, cumulative frustration with his partner making him snappish.

The firefighters had the blaze under control within minutes, despite the potentially hazardous situation involving the dry cleaning chemicals in the store. With the arrival of the ambulance, the victims were quickly treated and prepared for transport. One of the other paramedics rode in with the three victims. Although Johnny was no longer coughing, Roy drove him over to Rampart to be checked out.

* * *

After a quick examination at Rampart, Johnny was cleared to return to work. The ride back to the station was a long and quiet one.

Cap had been in his office waiting for the squad to return, and as soon as he heard it backing in, he went to stand in the doorway. He watched the two paramedics as they headed his way. "Gage, in my office," he ordered as soon as they were near enough for him to speak.

Johnny followed wearily, knowing he was in for a reprimand at best.

"I presume I don't have to tell you what a stupid stunt that was?"

Johnny shook his head. "No, sir."

Cap did not say anything for a moment as he thoughtfully regarded the haggard, smoke-streaked face of the exhausted man standing before him. Finally, he pulled open a desk drawer, reached in, and brought out a small card. "You need to talk to someone who knows more than I do. You have two choices." He handed the card to Johnny. "Make an appointment with Dr. Wilson for tomorrow or Monday. Or, I'll make the appointment for you and it will go in your record."

Surprised that he was not in for another dressing down, Johnny accepted the card. Then his eyes briefly sparked with anger as the implications of his captain ordering him to see a shrink sunk in. "Yes, sir."

Cap noted both reactions. "You think you can make it through the rest of the shift without doing anything like that again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed, Gage." Cap watched the paramedic leave the office and sighed. Sometimes being the captain was not fun.


	24. Chapter 24

**Sunday, December 5:**

**Johnny's Place**

A pre-dawn run had kept the A-shift of Station 51 from returning until after the eight o'clock hour. Johnny had quickly changed out of his turnout coat and uniform, and left the station without speaking to anyone. Construction detours snarled traffic, even on a Sunday, and the rain did nothing to cool the temperature of the frustrated drivers. It was well past nine by the time that Johnny made it home.

"Good morning, Mr. Gage!" Mrs. Carter sang out brightly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carter."

If the landlady had any ideas of asking Johnny for assistance with a little project that morning, she must have quickly repented of them upon seeing the stormy expression on his face.

He took the stairs two at a time. Hands trembling, he fumbled with the key. "Damn this lock!" Finally it turned. He banged the door open, then kicked it shut with his heel. Stalking over to the refrigerator, he yanked the door open and grabbed a beer.

Three beers later, he slouched on the sofa, not quite numb enough, but too tired to walk across the room to get another one. The phone was ringing. Again. He mustered enough energy to reach over and detach the cord from the back to stop the intrusive noise.

Three quarters of an hour and the rest of a six-pack later, a knock sounded on the door. He ignored it.

The knocking resumed. "Johnny, are you in there?" came Roy's voice through the door.

"Dammit!" Johnny muttered, heaving himself off the couch. Slamming the door open, he barked, "What do you want!"

Roy stepped back half a pace. "I was worried about you."

Johnny glared at his friend, then moved aside, permitting entry.

As Roy stepped into the apartment, his eyes took in the empties by the sofa, then looked back at Johnny. "You gonna spend the day drinking?"

"It's none of your damned business! But if you must know, yes. I am," he said sarcastically.

"It is my business. You're self-destructing and I can't just stand here and watch."

"Well, no one asked you to!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't come here to argue with you."

The two stared at each other for a moment.

Breaking eye-contact, Johnny asked, "Do you want a … something to drink?"

"Coffee would be good."

Annoyance plain on his face, Johnny filled the kettle with water, banged it into the burner and set the flame to boil. He reached up into the cupboard and brought down two mugs and the jar of instant coffee. He turned around, leaning back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed, waiting. Roy remained standing near the doorway. The clock ticked off the seconds as the water seemed to take forever to heat.

"What was that with the little girl?"

"Nobody got hurt."

"That's not the point."

"Who the hell do you think you are? Captain DeSoto?"

The water in the kettle began to bubble.

"Oh, come on! You're acting like a rookie."

"Well, excuse me! I forgot you always do everything right."

"That was a lucky stick and you know it!"

"You didn't flunk the damned exam!"

Steam began to puff from the spout of the kettle.

"You didn't flunk the damned exam, either! Why the hell are you acting like you're not a paramedic?"

"I'll be seeing the friggin' shrink tomorrow! I don't friggin' need this from you!"

The kettle whistled shrilly.

"What the hell do you need?"

"Leave me the hell alone!"

Johnny removed the screaming kettle from the burner and switched it off. Still with his back to Roy, he said more quietly, "Just leave me alone."

Roy stood silently for a moment. "Okay," he said softly, then turned and left the apartment.

After hearing the door close, Johnny got another beer and went back to the sofa.

* * *

**Roy's Place**

Roy stood outside in the hallway, his breath tight, feeling like he had just run a race and come in last. He hadn't meant to buy into Johnny's anger. He knew better than to argue with an angry, intoxicated man. But this angry, intoxicated man was his partner and his best friend. He had come over with the intention of offering support, and he had only made things worse. He sighed, hoping that seeing the psychiatrist would do some good, because he certainly wasn't providing much help at this point.

As he navigated the rain-slicked roads, he replayed the conversation over in his head, thinking of the things he should have said, wishing he could take back some of the things he had said. Reaching home, he ducked through the raindrops to the front door, where Joanne greeted him.

"You're back early. How'd it go?"

"Terrible."

They walked into the kitchen, where Roy dropped down heavily onto a chair next to the table. Joanne came up behind him, putting her arms around his shoulders and pressing her face next to his. He leaned back into her embrace for a few moments.

"Where are the kids?"

"They're playing at the neighbors."

He caressed her arms for a minute and then pulled her around to sit in his lap. He cupped her face gently in his hands. "I love you, Joanne." His arms moved down to encircle her shoulders as he pulled her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. "I need you," he whispered.


	25. Chapter 25

**Monday, December 6:**

_**Johnny's Place, Middle of the Night**_

Wincing at the brightness coming from the overhead light in the bathroom, he closed his eyes and splashed water over his face. Drying his face, he contemplated the reflection in the mirror. "Not the smartest thing you've ever done, Gage," he said aloud to himself.

He turned on the television and adjusted the volume to a low setting. He idly flipped the channels for a few minutes. There wasn't much on at three in the morning. After watching disinterestedly for a while, he headed into the kitchen to put water on to boil, knowing he was going to need a lot of coffee. And aspirin. Upon seeing the two mugs and the jar of instant still on the counter, he winced, remembering the scene with Roy. He didn't understand the combination of anger and guilt he felt around his partner, but he knew it was making him act in ways he normally wouldn't.

Johnny sprawled in a half-doze on the sofa. Whether it was from so much coffee, the aspirin, the hangover, or stress in general, his stomach was starting to really bother him. Getting up, he rummaged in the refrigerator for something edible. Spying the few remaining cans of beer, he briefly entertained the idea of having a bit of 'the hair of the dog,' but rejected the thought. Showing up three sheets to the wind for his appointment with the shrink simply would not do. He was crazy, perhaps; stupid, no. Finding nothing in the refrigerator, he searched the cupboards, coming up with a can of condensed tomato soup and some crackers. It wasn't much, but it was something.

* * *

_**LACoFD Headquarters, Psychiatrist's Office, Mid-Afternoon**_

Dr. Wilson smiled warmly at Johnny. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his whole manner radiated compassion. He had helped this young man sitting stiffly before him work through few distressing work-related issues before. Paramedics tended to be perfectionists. While this tendency towards self-analysis did provide valuable feedback in helping them improve their skills, sometimes it had the opposite effect as they ripped themselves apart after making a mistake or experiencing a failed rescue. Dr. Wilson was aware that Johnny recently thought he had failed the paramedic exam and knew that it must have been a tremendous blow to his confidence and self-image. He also had received a brief summary sheet from Captain Stanley, noting his observations. "What can I help you with, Johnny?"

"Captain Stanley sent me here to talk to you." Johnny's voice and posture were defensive and angry.

Paramedics also tended to be control freaks. Paramedics had to be able to take control in chaotic situations in order to provide effective emergency care. Events that undermined their worldview of being in control were very distressing. "Yes. And?"

"I don't want to talk to you!" he blurted out. Immediately embarrassed, he broke eye contact and found something interesting to look at over in the corner.

"Most people don't want to. Given a choice between latrine duty for life and talking to me, they pick latrine duty every time." Dr. Wilson commented mildly, with a smile playing about his lips.

Disarmed by the gentle humor, Johnny smiled briefly, sliding his eyes back to the doctor's face. "I'm sorry." He heaved a sigh that sounded like it must have originated in the vicinity of his toes. "I don't think I really want to talk about anything." He had initiated his previous visits himself. This time was different.

"You're still pretty angry about the things that have happened."

"I'm not angry!" As soon as he said it, he realized what a silly statement that was to make to the psychiatrist. The expression on his face relayed the unspoken message.

When Dr. Wilson did not verbally respond, Johnny huffed softly. While he wasn't exactly thrilled to be talking all this out, he knew that the future of his career would depend in part on his cooperation with the psychiatrist. "Okay. I guess I am angry."

"Anger is a second emotion," Dr. Wilson said. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them. "Can you tell me what you're really feeling? What's behind the anger?"

The paramedic fidgeted, returning his attention to the fascinating view in the corner.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Johnny." Dr. Wilson's voice was gentle.

"Oh, shit. I don't want to do this."

Dr. Wilson leaned back, giving his patient more space. "I understand that you don't. Let's start with the easier stuff. Tell me how you're doing physically. How are you sleeping?"

"Uh, not good. I can't sleep."

"Okay. And how about eating?"

"I'm not eating much either. I'm not hungry."

Dr. Wilson nodded. "And drinking?"

"Not much."

"How much is not much?"

Johnny winced again, his headache still not completely gone. "I had a lot of beer yesterday. But other than that, the only time I drank was the day after they first told me I failed the exam."

"Okay. That's good." Dr. Wilson smiled. "Well, enough of the pleasant chit-chat. Now the hard stuff. Tell me what you're feeling."

Folding his arms across his chest, lips quirked in exasperation, he began. "I feel like I've been taken apart and put back together wrong. This whole thing is so stupid. It should never have happened. How can they screw us over like this? They make us jump through these hoops and when they screw up all they can say is, 'Oops, sorry, here's your life back!'" His feelings of anger and betrayal spilled out into the room.

"I'd be pretty upset if this happened to me, too. You work hard, you do your best and you get slapped down for no good reason."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah. But it's more than that. It's not just 'work' for me. I don't do this because it's a job. This is my whole life. It's what I'm supposed to be."

"It sounds like your personal life and your professional life are one in the same."

"I have a personal life!"

"But do you have a personal identity apart from your work?"

Johnny looked like he was going to say something more, but he instead shook his head.

"Your value as a person is separate from what you do for a living. We men tend to equate our egos with our jobs. We are task oriented and it is often difficult for us to separate our personal value from our performance. You can help people regardless of what your job is. But the helping and the caring comes from here." Dr. Wilson indicated his heart. "It's who you are. It doesn't come from the job. It comes from you. It's all you."

Dr. Wilson let Johnny think about that for a while and then said. "Tell me about your first shift back at 51's."

Johnny sat back and grimaced. "It was terrible. It started out bad and just got worse. One of the guys pulled a practical joke on me. Usually I don't mind much, but that day it just got me. The day was basically pretty slow. We only went on a few runs. But I felt like I wasn't there. I mean, I was there, but I wasn't. I don't know how to explain it. The station felt so strange, as if I had never been there before. It didn't feel like home." He stopped talking, chewing absently on his thumbnail.

"And then what happened?"

A look of irritation crossed Johnny's face. "We got a call about 4:30 for a traffic accident. I've never seen anything quite like it. I don't know how one car got on top of the other like that. Anyway, my partner took the girl with the head injury. I got stuck with a real jerk. I, uh…"

Dr. Wilson carefully observed the paramedic trying to decide what to say. When it seemed like he might not continue, Dr. Wilson verbally nudged him along, "And?"

"I couldn't start the friggin' IV!"

"And you think you should have been able to?"

"Of course! My partner got it started on the first stick."

Dr. Wilson filed that last comment away for future discussion. "And?"

Johnny started talking to the corner. "I'm afraid I can't do it. Any of it. They gave me back my license, but it's like it doesn't matter. I can't do it anyway. I couldn't even go into Rampart for supplies. I felt like everyone was looking at me, wondering, is he really supposed to be a paramedic ..."

When Johnny didn't continue, Dr. Wilson began to speak. "I think you're having a normal reaction. You've experienced some severely stressful events in the past few weeks. You appear to me to be physically exhausted as well. This, plus the less-than-ideal conditions of that run, is coloring your perception of the events."

"What do you know about the run?" he asked apprehensively.

"Captain Stanley told me a little about the nature of the victim. I think you were doing well not to just stab him and be done with it. I might have." Dr. Wilson's eyes twinkled.

Startled by the incongruity of the notion, Johnny laughed, as Dr. Wilson had intended.

"You know the drill. What were the adverse conditions of the run?"

"Well, the victim was grossly obese. And abusive."

"Uh huh. Was not being able to start the IV significant to the outcome?"

Johnny hedged a moment. "No. I guess that really wasn't significant."

Dr. Wilson noted the emphasis. "But something else was?" When there was no answer, the doctor posed the same question a little differently. "Was this other thing significant to the outcome?"

"No. I guess not. It turned out okay."

"So, what would you say to another paramedic who had the same experience?"

Johnny opened his mouth and closed it again, narrowing his eyes in annoyance at the doctor.

"Don't like that question, huh?"

"I'd tell them to blow it off."

"Good advice." Dr. Wilson was smiling.

A wry smile appeared on Johnny's face as the absurdity of his thinking became apparent.

"What about Saturday's shift? Can you tell me about that?"

"Oh, it was just more of the same. I found myself waiting for my partner to take the lead. He … it's … uh … " Deciding to switch topics, he addressed the event that had precipitated Captain Stanley's sending him to the shrink, saying, "About the little girl. I might have done that anyway. I just couldn't let her die! There were a bunch of children that died in a fire that happened while I was at 127's. I just couldn't …" The warning warmth that often presaged tears flooded his face. He swallowed and asked, "Can we talk about something else?"

"Okay." Dr. Wilson knew that just about all emergency and rescue workers found dealing with the injury and death of children particularly distressing. Johnny's previous visits had been the result of some failed rescues involving just that. They could talk about this issue another time, if necessary. "Going back to your other experiences on the last two shifts, after all you've been through lately, it's quite normal to feel like you can't do the job. To tell you the truth, if you didn't feel a little shaky, I'd be very surprised. These feelings will pass. Rest and time will help the most. Often it's best to take a break from analyzing these events over and over. Let them go."

None of these ideas were new. But in times of distress, most people needed to be reminded of principles they already knew.

Johnny was leaning his cheek against the knuckles of his left hand, drumming the desktop with the fingers of his right.

"So, what else are you still angry about?"

Johnny stilled for a second, looked at Dr. Wilson, then his eyes slid away to the corner again as his fingers resumed their drumming.

"Do you know?" he gently persisted.

"Yes, I know!" Johnny replied with some aggravation. He stared down at the desk, willing his fingers to stop moving. His foot took up the rhythmic slack. "I … uh … I'm mad at my partner." Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks. "And that's just..." His eyes bored a hole right through the drywall in the corner. It was hard enough to admit these feelings to himself; sharing them with someone else was even worse. He feared rejection if anyone else knew of what he saw as the hidden corruption in his soul. The only thing that made this revelation possible was his past experience in being able to trust the doctor, plus the knowledge that he wouldn't have to see or work with him, day-after-day, shift-after-shift.

"So, you're mad at your partner, and you're mad that you're mad." Dr. Wilson summarized for him. "What's the first emotion?"

"I hate this," he muttered softly. "Uh…" He thought over the past weeks and the interactions he'd had with Roy, arriving back to the moment in Cap's office when he had first heard that his partner had passed the exam while he had not. "I think I'm jealous," he admitted with surprise and embarrassment.

"That's a normal reaction. Especially when it concerns something you deeply care about. Your partner has something you think you lost and want very much. You see him as being a successful paramedic, while at the same time experiencing trouble seeing yourself in the same light."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't feel that way!"

"Why not?"

"It's … it's … I shouldn't feel that way! He's my partner!"

"You feel guilty about the way that you feel. Ashamed about being jealous." Dr. Wilson named the emotions.

"Yeah."

"Quite a nice catch-22 you have set up for yourself there. Well done."

Johnny smiled faintly, his eyes darting over to Dr. Wilson before fixing on the corner once more.

"However you feel is the 'way you should feel,' Johnny. Your emotions are valid. While it's true we can sometimes learn more productive ways of reacting to or thinking about situations, our feelings arise from our thoughts. Until we change our thinking, we can't change the way we feel."

Johnny pondered that for a while. "So, how do I change my thinking?"

"Sometimes getting another viewpoint helps. Sometimes just talking about it is enough. Paradoxically, you begin by accepting your feelings. Once you've acknowledged them, you are free to change your thinking about people and events. In the case of your partner, you might begin to see that his success in no way diminishes you or your successfulness as a paramedic. Competition with other people is generally not healthy, notwithstanding the prevailing attitudes of our society."

Dr. Wilson waited, giving the paramedic time to digest the idea.

"What else are you still angry about?"

Johnny's face displayed a mixture of amazement and irritation. "What makes you think I'm still angry about something?"

"To use a metaphor you're familiar with, the fire ain't out 'till it's out. Anger is the fire. I can sense you still have some hot spots."

"You can be pretty annoying with this second emotion crap!"

"So I've been told." Dr. Wilson chuckled.

Johnny talked about the situation at 127's with Toby Barnes. "He was on me from the first moment he laid eyes on me. I've dealt with prejudice before, but this guy just never let up. Little things. Little digs. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think he even tripped me in the hall at a fire scene." Johnny paused, lost in the memories. "I don't understand why someone like that wants to be a firefighter, when he so obviously doesn't care about other people. He didn't care about any of the victims. He didn't even care about Alan Cooke. He's the paramedic who was injured in that Thanksgiving Day pile-up. When he punched me, it really hurt," he said, absently stroking the small scar by his left eye. "It doesn't, now. But the things he said … they're still with me."

"Yes. Words are often more painful than punches. So, what's the first emotion?"

Just thinking about Barnes made anger flare. "There is no first emotion! I hate him!" Several different expressions played across his face. He felt sick with the realization. "I guess that doesn't make me any better than he is."

"Do you need to be different than he is?"

"Yes!" he said fiercely. "I don't want to be anything like him!"

"If you want to be different, forgive him."

"What!"

"Forgive him. Harboring hatred can cause as much, if not more, damage as the original hurt. Forgiveness allows healing to begin. And forgive yourself. Forgive your mistakes. Love covers a multitude of faults. There just ain't no other cure for being human."

Johnny sat back in the chair, arms loosely folded across his chest. The intensity of the feelings he had experienced during the last hour had left him drained.

Dr. Wilson also sat back in his chair, granting Johnny more personal space. His eyes conveyed acceptance. "We've covered a lot of ground today. There is a lot to think about. If you remember nothing else, remember this: Things will eventually get better." The doctor considered the young man sitting before him. "You're scheduled to work tomorrow, right?"

Johnny nodded, anticipating that he would not like what was coming next.

"I'm recommending that you take the shift off." Raising a hand to stop Johnny's protest, he continued, "You are physically and emotionally exhausted. You won't be doing yourself or anyone else a favor by working. You need some time to recover."

Reluctantly, Johnny had to agree with the doctor's assessment.

The doctor escorted Johnny to the doorway and shook hands. Eyes crinkling at the corners, he took a minute to review basic stress relief measures, such as adequate food, exercise and rest, ticking them off on his fingers as he spoke. "I know you already know all this, but it's my obligatory, parting advice. You need to eat. Make it something besides donuts, burgers and fries; grease, salt and sugar are not considered three of the four basic food groups. Eat some fruit and vegetables. Cut down on the beer; hops is not a vegetable. Drink lots of water. Go running or fishing or hiking or play tennis. Whatever you like to do. And get some rest. Now, I don't usually say this, but a dead tuna looks better than you, my friend. If you still can't sleep on your days off, call me and I'll write you a 'script for something. Most of all, give yourself some time. And give the events of the past few days a rest. You've been trotting them around twenty-four hours a day and they're dog-tired. Don't make snap judgments about your life, abilities and career based on the fact that you couldn't start an IV on a screaming, fat man. Call me if you need me. Here's my card. And if I don't hear from you by Thursday, you'll definitely hear from me."

Johnny's mouth had dropped open in disbelief during the course of the good doctor's advice. Then he started to laugh.


	26. Chapter 26

**Tuesday, December 7:**

**Johnny's Place**

The early-dawn sounds of birds calling to each other in the trees woke Johnny. He was surprised to find it was morning. This was the first time he had really slept in almost three weeks. He had crashed on the sofa after returning home from the visit with Dr. Wilson, too exhausted to do anything else. Refreshed by the long sleep, he stretched, pulled on his running shorts, and headed out the door.

Once outside, he started jogging for the park where he liked to run while in the city. He hadn't gone running since before the temporary transfer to 127's. He loved running. The rhythm of his feet and his breathing always felt like he was merging with the pulse of the universe. Running made him feel infinite. As he ran in the early quiet, his spirits lightened along with the morning sky.

* * *

**Thursday, December 9:**

**Johnny's Place**

Johnny had spent the previous two days doing things he enjoyed. As he now looked around the messy apartment, he knew it was time to do some things he didn't particularly enjoy. Newspapers and mail spilled off the table onto the floor. The kitchen was no longer clean, since he had begun eating again. The mound of dirty clothing in the living room threatened to spontaneously generate. And his closet and dresser drawers were just about empty. The bathroom looked the way bathrooms look when they haven't been cleaned for a month. It took the rest of the morning to sort through the clutter and scrub what needed scrubbing.

Around noon, he called Dr. Wilson's office. They talked for a little while, and the doctor asked Johnny to stop by on Saturday.

Once the apartment was tidied, Johnny decided to wash and wax the Land Rover while the day was still sunny. A few hours later, the vehicle was sparkling.

Finally tackling the task he liked least, he stuffed the huge pile of soiled clothing into several pillowcases and took them over to the Laundromat. He had brought a paramedic text along to read while he waited for the cycles to finish, but ended up flirting with a woman doing her laundry.

By the time he returned from the Laundromat, it was early evening. He knew he should call Roy and had finally run out of things to postpone the call any longer.

"Hi, Roy."

"Hi Johnny. What's up?"

"Just cleaning house, doing laundry and stuff."

The silence on the line grew strained as both men struggled to think of something neutral to say. They hadn't spoken to each other since Sunday.

Johnny thought of something first. "Did you still need help painting the eaves?"

"No. I finished that. I'm scraping and painting the window sills, now."

"Can you use some help?"

"Sure. If you want to."

"I'll come over Saturday."

"Are you coming in tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"We've got a trainee scheduled."

"Oh."

The silence started to build again.

"Uh, Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm real sorry about the other day."

"Yeah, me too. I think we both said some things we didn't mean."

"Okay."

"Well, see you tomorrow."

"Bye."


	27. Chapter 27

**Friday, December 10:**

_**Station 51**_

Johnny greeted Roy in the locker room. Roy noticed that his friend looked much better rested. Gone were the dark hollows under his eyes and the lines that tension and fatigue had etched around his mouth. He even looked like he may have gained back a pound or two. "Where's the trainee?" Johnny asked as he dressed. Like all paramedics, Roy and Johnny were often assigned to mentor a paramedic trainee for a shift.

"Not here yet. Cap said his name is David Hansen. He's fresh out of the classroom."

"This is his first shift?"

"Yeah."

Half a minute later, Cap brought the trainee into the locker room. He introduced him to Roy and Johnny and asked them to get him settled. "Roll call is in five minutes." Before leaving the locker room, Cap made a quick visual assessment of Johnny, noting the obvious physical signs of improvement since the last time he had seen the paramedic. Although Dr. Wilson had given the go-ahead for returning to work, Cap would continue to keep an eye on him throughout the shift.

Cap made the daily housekeeping assignments. "DeSoto and Hansen, break room. It's a mess. Gage, kitchen. Stoker, engine bay. Lopez, dorm. Kelly, latrine." Then he launched into his 'welcome the new trainee' speech. "These two are one of the best examples of a paramedic team you can hope to find." Cap concluded his little speech.

The set-up was just too tempting for Chet to ignore. "Yeah, Roy is the best example of a good paramedic and Johnny here is the best example of a bad paramedic!"

Four mouths dropped open in astonishment at the incredibly bad timing of a tacky joke that might have worked in a different situation. David glanced back and forth between all the men, unsure of the dynamics.

"Kelly!" Cap growled through clenched teeth.

"Ha, ha, Kelly. Very funny." Johnny said at the same time. Motioning to David, he said, "Come on. We'll show you the squad."

Roy tossed an exasperated glare at Chet before following after them.

Cap gazed at their retreating backs, thoughtfully considering Johnny's reaction. Satisfied by what he saw, he turned to Chet and ground out, "Kelly! Are you bucking for latrine duty for life?"

"No, sir!" Kelly stood rigidly at attention.

"Get outta here!" Cap dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a hint of amusement around his eyes.

"Chet…" Marco began.

"I know! I know! Don't even say it. I'll apologize to him later," Chet moaned as he headed for the cabinet to retrieve the necessary supplies for cleaning the latrine.

* * *

The morning passed quietly, in relatively minor runs.

"Is it always like this?" David wanted to know. "Somehow I thought it would be more exciting."

"Yeah. I'd say that about only one run in twenty is life threatening. Most of the time it's bumps and scrapes or really weird stuff," explained Roy.

Bumps and scrapes had constituted the only calls to which they had responded that day. They hadn't had any weird run, yet. "Like what?"

"Like a girl getting her braces caught in the carpet. That happened a couple of shifts ago. It was kind of hard not to laugh. The situations that people get into, especially when they don't get seriously hurt, are often quite funny. To us, anyway." Johnny answered this time.

Roy looked thoughtfully at Johnny before launching into another tale of a weird rescue. "We had a lady stuck in the doggie door not too long ago." He started to laugh at the memory. "You wouldn't believe how often this happens. I don't know why people think they can fit through there. She had accidentally locked herself out of the house and thought she could get back in that way. There she was, with her fanny bulging out around the edges of the doggie door, wearing these purple paisley with yellow polka-dots shorts, …"

* * *

The squad had just returned from another easy run. Roy and David had gone into the kitchen for coffee. Johnny was leaning over the hood of the squad, using it like a desk as he jotted something down on a clipboard when Chet sidled up.

"Johnny?"

His eyebrows went up at that. Chet rarely called him by his first name.

The words tumbled out of Chet's mouth. "I'm sorry about that crack earlier. I didn't mean it like that. It came out wrong. I really do think you're a good paramedic…."

Johnny interrupted Chet before he could get too maudlin. "Thanks, Chet. I appreciate that." Noting Chet's continued discomfort, Johnny added with a grin, "See if I rescue you the next time!"

"You'd better, Gage!" A smile spread over Chet's face, relieved that Johnny wasn't offended by the stinker of a joke.

* * *

"Squad 51. Possible heart attack. 214 Renton. 2-1-4 Renton. Cross street Cluff. Time out 15:47."

David's heart began to beat a little faster upon hearing the words spoken by the dispatcher. This sounded like it would be his first real emergency rescue. The three men jumped into the squad and fastened their helmets. Cap handed the slip of paper to Roy, which he in turn passed to David. Johnny had out the map. The squad pulled out onto the street, sirens wailing.

"Okay, it's a left at the next intersection. Whoa, watch out for this blue car on the right. Okay, clear." Johnny navigated for Roy.

"What's the number, David?" asked Roy.

"214. Should be on the right side. There it is!" Excitement tinged his voice.

A distraught woman came running up to the squad. "I think he's having a heart attack! Please hurry!" she cried, plucking at Johnny's sleeve.

"Okay, ma'am. We're coming. We need to get our supplies. Could you just stand over here for a minute?"

Johnny grabbed the drug box and the heart monitor out of the compartment. Roy grabbed the defibrillator and the bio-phone from the other. David hesitated briefly, unsure what he should get. "Bring the oxygen," Roy directed David. The three took off for the house at a trot.

They found a man in his fifties who looked pale and diaphoretic and was experiencing difficulty breathing. He was extremely agitated. "Hello, sir. We're here to help you. Everything's going to be all right. How long ago did the pain start?" Roy asked. He got the oxygen mask ready.

David closely examined the man with his eyes, still holding onto the oxygen tank. While he had seen survivors of heart attack in hospitals before, this was the first real heart attack victim he had seen outside of training films.

"About twenty minutes ago," the man gasped. "Hurts real bad!"

"Get his vitals," Johnny said to David as he prepared the defibrillator and the cardiac monitor.

David jumped a little. He had been engrossed in observing the man and listening to Roy's questions. He got out the BP cuff and inflated it on the victim's arm.

"Sir, I'm going to open your shirt and put these pads on your chest so we can see what's going on. Just relax. Everything's going to be all right." Johnny spoke soothingly to the man.

David surreptitiously watched Johnny as he took the vitals, wondering what it would be like if the man coded. He began reviewing the ABC's of basic CPR to himself - airway, breathing, circulation - just in case he needed to be ready.

"BP 210 over 160. Pulse 162. Respirations 24." David reported the vitals in what he hoped was a calmer manner than what he was currently feeling.

"Paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia," Johnny said, reading the monitor. "I'll get the IV set up." Then, addressing David, he added, "They'll probably order 6 mg of Lidocaine rapid IV push. Get ready."

Nodding that he had heard, David reached for the drug while reviewing the sequence of advanced cardiac life support procedures he had learned: defibrillation, intravenous line, airway, assessment.

Roy called Rampart. "We have an approximately 50 year old male. He began experiencing chest pains about 20 minutes ago…" Just then the man began to choke. "Hold on, Rampart."

He surged halfway out of the chair and then collapsed back unconscious. David gasped, eyes wide, somewhat panicked by the dramatic display.

"V-Tach!" Johnny exclaimed, setting the paddles aside. David immediately grabbed the paddles and charged them. Johnny and Roy lowered the man to the floor. Johnny checked for a pulse, found it and was counting, when David yelled, "Clear!" Johnny reflexively jumped back and yelled, "Wait!" at the same time. The paddles discharged. "David!" Johnny hissed as he grabbed the paddles out of David's hands.

David sat back, horrified at what he'd just done. He'd shocked a man who had a pulse! He'd killed him! The room felt like all the air had been sucked out of it as the scene became a blur of sound and motion to him. His universe collapsed to encompass only the two paramedics working seamlessly and rapidly as a team to save the victim.

"V-Fib! No pulse. One. Two. Three-four. Clear! No conversion. Beginning CPR. Clear! No conversion. Rampart, victim is in V-Fib. We have lost the pulse. We have defibrillated times two, inserted an esophageal airway and begun CPR_._"

He'd killed him! The voices flowed around him, controlled, calm, surfing over the chaos.

"10-4, administering epinephrine. One. Two. Three-four. Clear! No conversion, Rampart.._. _10-4,administering Lidocaine. One. Two. ! No conversion, Rampart..."

No conversion. No conversion. His first day on the job and he'd killed a man. His mind went blank, the room shrank down to a pinprick of light and the sound of his own blood in his ears was deafening.

"10-4, administering epinephrine. Clear! No conversion, Rampart... 10-4, administering Lidocaine. Clear!"

"51, you have idioventricular rhythm at 40 beats per minute. Smoothing out into sinus rhythm at 58 beats per minute."

"David, get the vitals," he heard a voice say from far away.

"David, get the vitals," the voice said again.

Feeling something nudge him, David looked down at Johnny, who was holding the BP cuff in his hand.

"Is he going to be okay? Did I …" David's voice was the barest whisper.

Johnny shook his head once, pushing the cuff into David's hands. "It's okay. Get the BP." He reached for the victim's wrist to take the pulse.

Roy was back in contact with Rampart, giving the updated vitals and receiving instructions. "Two litres of O2, lidocaine drip and transport immediately. 10-4, Rampart."

They prepared the man for transport. Johnny and Roy's eyes met over the gurney as they helped wheel the man to the ambulance. They came to an unspoken agreement to say that the patient had no pulse when he arrested. "I'll ride in," said Roy.

Johnny and David jumped into the squad and headed for Rampart. They drove in silence for a few moments. Glancing at the stricken trainee out of the corner of his eye as he drove, Johnny cleared his throat and said, "David… he had a pulse. I know you already know this, but you never shock a pulse. You always check for a pulse before defibrillating."

The young man stared out of the window, his expression ashen. "I almost killed him. I almost killed him." David kept whispering the phrase in horror over and over.

Johnny cut the siren on the squad and backed into the area near the emergency entrance. "You didn't kill him. We're here. Right now, you've got to be a paramedic. We'll talk some more about this later."


	28. Chapter 28

**Friday, December 10:**

**Rampart**

Patient left in the capable hands of the emergency medical staff, drug box restocked, the three paramedics left for the squad. Johnny started to radio dispatch, but Roy stopped him. "Wait a minute," Roy said, driving to the far end of the parking lot. They all got out of the squad again.

"Look at me." Johnny briefly touched David's shoulder to gain his attention. "Look at me. I know you're scared. It's okay that you're scared. It's good that you're scared. I guarantee that you'll never make this particular mistake again. You're going to be a good paramedic. You make a mistake. You fix it. You learn from it. You move on. You do better next time. You don't quit. Understand? You don't quit. Don't throw it all away on one mistake." Johnny paused as he truly heard the words coming out of his mouth.

"Do you still make mistakes?" asked David, still shaken by the enormity of what had almost happened.

"Hell, yes. I try not to, but I'm not perfect."

"Did you ever shock a heartbeat?" he asked miserably.

"No, but I've made plenty of other mistakes. We all make mistakes. That's partly why we don't work alone. The only real failure is if you quit. Forgive yourself and move on."

"I shocked a heartbeat when I was a rookie," Roy added. "I know how easy it is to panic when you see a heart attack collapse like that with V-Tach. But like Johnny said, I learned from it. I've never done it again. I probably never will. We think you're going to make it, David. Prove us right."

David exhaled in a shaky breath, scrubbed his hand over his face, and managed a weak smile. "I'll try. Thank you."

Johnny appeared lost in thought. '_Forgive yourself and move on._' Feeling Roy's questioning gaze, he flashed his eyebrows and grinned at his partner before turning back to the squad.

* * *

_**Rampart Meeting Room**_

Brice had just concluded his explanations to the five doctors on the testing board.

Dr. Brackett looked at the four other doctors. "Are there any more questions you'd like to ask?" Upon receiving a negative response, Dr. Brackett nodded to Brice. "We want to thank you for coming here today. You've given us a few things to consider. I'll call you when we have reached a decision."

Brice inclined his head toward the doctors and gathered up his notes. "Thank you for this hearing."

After Brice had left, Dr. Brackett said to the room at large, "Well?"

"Well, I would not have thought to interpret those questions that way, but what he said did make sense. I think we have to reconsider his exam."

"If we're going to do that, we should reconsider all the exams for those who failed."

"Evidently we need to rewrite some of the questions."

"I think we should rethink the certification process. Instead of having a pass or fail cut-off point, I think we need to accommodate a range of scores with conditional certification. And we probably should incorporate more skills exams as well."

"I think we also need to reconsider the waiting period for re-taking the exam."

Dr. Brackett held up his hand. "These are all very good and valid points to consider, gentlemen. But the main question right now is what to do about Brice."

A lengthy discussion ensued, the outcome of which was that Brice would be reinstated as a certified paramedic.


	29. Chapter 29

**Saturday, December 11:**

_**Roy's Place**_

Johnny showed up at Roy's house a little past 8:00 a.m. to help scrape and paint the windowsills as he had promised the previous day. Roy rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his face as he answered the door. Johnny greeted him with an exuberant "Morning!" as he bounded through the doorway. "Got any coffee on?"

'_Where does he get all that energy?_' Roy wondered for at least the millionth time as he followed more sedately into the kitchen.

Five minutes later the two friends were hard at it. As they worked, they bantered back and forth on various topics of no consequence. The mood between them was light and easy.

At mid-morning, Joanne brought out a tray with iced tea and cookies. "Can I interest you boys in a break?" she called out to them.

"Sounds great!" Johnny scrunched his shoulders up and down and rotated his head in an effort to relieve the kinks in his neck that the awkward angles of scraping and painting around windows had created.

Roy did the same thing, accompanied by little snapping and crackling sounds. Johnny started laughing. "I heard that all the way over here! You are getting old, man!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. Thank you, sweetheart," he said to Joanne, giving her a quick peck and a squeeze.

Joanne sat down to chat for a few moments and then announced that she still had work to do inside the house. After she left, Roy sat silently, staring into at his iced tea, swirling the ice around in the glass. "Johnny? There's something I need to tell you."

Johnny raised his eyebrows questioningly over the rim of his glass. "What's that, Roy?"

"I want to apologize for believing you failed the exam."

"What the hell for? Even I thought I had flunked the exam."

"But I should have known better. I know you. And I know all the weird things that happen to you. You gotta admit, if anything wacky is going to happen, it'll happen to you." Roy grinned and then added more seriously, "I should have done something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Just something. What would you have done if it had been me?"

Johnny laughed. "It would never happen to you, Roy."

"What if it had?" Roy persisted.

Johnny considered his friend for a moment before replying soberly, "I probably would never have believed it. You're too good. Too experienced. No one would have believed it."

Both men became lost in their own thoughts. Johnny broke the silence. "There's something I should probably tell you. When I first found out that you passed and I didn't, I, uh … well, I'm sorry about the way I've been acting."

Another silence ensued, during which the two stewed in private thoughts best left unspoken. Roy broke the silence this time. "Well, let's get back at it while the sun is still shining, eh Junior?"

"Right behind ya, Pally! Did I tell you I have to be gone before 2:30? Hey, are you going to watch the Minnesota-Miami game tonight? It should be really good. I think the Vikings are going to use the Dolphins to wipe up the field …" Johnny rushed to start talking about football before Roy could inquire too closely as to why he needed to leave early.

* * *

_**LACoFD Headquarters, Psychiatrist's Office**_

Johnny was still in a good mood when he entered the office. Dr. Wilson noticed and commented on it.

"Yeah, well, I've been up and I've been down. Up is better."

While Dr. Wilson was pleased to see Johnny's improved attitude, he also wanted to make sure the paramedic was grounded in reality. "Right now it's kind of like a pendulum. You'll have really good days, like today. And you'll still have a few bad days, until you regain your equilibrium. As long as you recognize what's going on, you can deal with it." Dr. Wilson's past experience with this young paramedic coupled with his evaluation of progress made thus far led him to believe that when the pendulum stopped swinging, it would stabilize well into the territory of the good days.

This day's session was nowhere near as emotionally intense as the first meeting had been. First they talked about how the previous day's shift had gone. Johnny told about how surprised he was to hear himself saying those words to the trainee. And even more surprised to find that he believed them. They discussed the personality traits associated with perfectionism and how these could work both for and against a paramedic. They talked about the destructiveness of anger. They talked more about the nature of forgiveness and its power to heal.

As they shook hands at the door, Dr. Wilson did not feel the need to reiterate his usual stress-relief instructions.

"So, I don't look like a dead tuna anymore?"

"Nah. A live carp, at least."

However, the doctor did extend the invitation to call or come by again at any time.

After Johnny had left, Dr. Wilson sat down behind his desk to prepare for the next appointment. As he reviewed the case file, he couldn't help but consider the two men whose lives were intertwined. While he was fairly certain that one man was progressing along the road of emotional and spiritual health, he was more pessimistic about the other man's development. This other man was extremely angry, unwilling to confront ugly truths about himself, unable to change. In fact, Dr. Wilson thought that the man's anger had jumped the firebreak into rage. Barnes seemed to have forgotten that he wanted to be a firefighter or a paramedic; inflicting pain on another person had become more important. In trying to get even, he was destroying his own career. Anger could be dealt with; rage was a mindless madness with which there was no reasoning. Dr. Wilson feared that unless he could make significant headway in helping Toby Barnes to lower his emotional temperature, he would probably have to recommend that the man be discharged


	30. Chapter 30

**Monday, December 13:**

_**Station 51**_

Johnny was whistling as he entered the locker room. "Morning, guys!" he greeted Chet and Marco.

"Morning, Johnny." Marco finished tucking his shirt into his pants.

"Well, you seem like you're in a really good mood. Did you score, or something?"

"Oh, grow up, Chet."

"Oh, of course you didn't. Forgot who I was talking to for a minute." Chet stuck his tongue in his cheek as he gauged Johnny's reaction.

"Talkin' to yourself," retorted Johnny. He pulled a roll of tape out of his pocket and reached inside his locker to retrieve his poster. He unrolled it and carefully secured Smokey to his place of honor inside the locker door. He grinned and gave it his ritual tap.

* * *

Everyone was lined up for roll call. Captain Stanley read from his clipboard. "Okay, men. We've got some fire hydrant inspections scheduled for today. And later on we'll have some knot drills. Kelly, kitchen. Stoker, dorm. Lopez and DeSoto, engine bay. Gage, latrine. Let's get at it!"

As was their habit, the four members of the engine crew headed off to the kitchen for their quick morning cup of coffee before starting on the chores.

Roy and Johnny commenced the daily equipment check with Rampart.

"Rampart, this is LA County 51."

"Go ahead 51."

"Initiating communications testing sequence now."

"Looks good, 51. 10-4."

"Did you hear about Brice yet?" Roy began putting the equipment away.

"What about him?"

"He got reinstated. Cap told me before you got here."

"What! How did he do that?" Johnny's face reflected his amazement.

Roy started laughing. "Seems he cornered Brackett about some of the questions on the exam. He read them in a way nobody else would think of. But he managed to convince Brackett and the Board that his interpretation was correct. So they reinstated him."

"I'll be damned! Why didn't I think of that?" He closed the squad compartment that housed the bio-phone and the cardiac monitor.

"Wouldn't have made any difference. Wasn't your exam anyway."

"Well, I'm glad Brice got reinstated." Johnny nodded, patting the door of the compartment for emphasis.

"You won't be after next shift." The two men headed for the kitchen.

"Why's that?"

"He'll be covering for me when I'm off." Roy was laughing again.

"Roy!" Johnny trailed after Roy into the kitchen.

When Roy and Johnny came in, Chet was once again placing the last of six steaming mugs on the table.

"Oh no, Chet. I'm not falling for that again. I'll get my own coffee, thank you very much." Johnny got a clean mug out of the cabinet and poured himself a cup.

"Suit yourself, Gage. You really are too paranoid." Chet watched Johnny over the rim of his cup.

Johnny hesitated, looking at the cup in his hands as if it had grown horns. "Can somebody taste this for me?" Johnny looked plaintively around the room.

"Just drink the coffee, Gage. It all came out of the same pot, ya twit." Cap took a sip from his cup.

Deciding it was safe, Johnny took a big gulp, which he immediately spit back into the cup. "Chet!" he bellowed, rushing to the sink to rinse his mouth yet again.

"Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean I'm not out to get you," Chet smirked.

"Yeah, and one of these days I'm going to get you," muttered Johnny disgustedly, sitting down at the table. Roy scooted his cup over. "Thanks, Roy."

"In your dreams, Pigeon, in your dreams!"

"How'd you do that? The coffee did all come out of the same pot," Marco whispered over to Chet.

"The Phantom never tells," Chet whispered back, solemnly.

'_Yep, definitely back to normal. Welcome back._' Cap smiled to himself.

* * *

1Wisdomkeepers: Meetings With Native American Spiritual Elders. "Charlie Knight (Ute)." Hillsboro, Or.: Beyond Words Publishing, c1990, p.19.

2Ibid. "Mathew King (Lakota)," p. 31.

* * *

A/N – For those who wonder what happened to the no-good, very bad, terrible, horrible Barnes, he'll be ba-a-a-ack.


End file.
